Freedom of the Sea
by HighlyOveractiveImagination
Summary: Sherlock is the proud captain of a pirate ship, John is a navy doctor on a royal mission, when their paths collide on the high seas the ensuing events are some for the history books. Pirate!lock AU, slash but only because it was requested, if I get enough reviews I'll write a slash-free version. Pretty much everyone makes an appearance (pre-season 3).
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.: I would like to apologize in advance to all of you. This story is going to be historically inaccurate on several points. There are many things I don't know as well as some things I do. I know that pirate crews operated more like a democracy than a monarchy, and I know that most pirate ships didn't have captain's quarters. But I am ignoring as much of history as I can bear for the sake of plot. Sorry.**

Captain… Sherlock rather liked the sound of that; Captain Sherlock, it had an appealing ring to it.

After the unfortunate death of the previous captain Sherlock had been promoted, although the rag-tag group of pirates he had been made captain of was hardly ideal they had proven to be as fearsome a group of ruthless marauders as any pirate captain could hope for.

They had once again showed their prowess in another successful raid (but for the loss of their captain).

Sherlock bore the marks of it, his cutlass was stained red by the blood of the soldiers he had killed and the crimson liquid was splattered all over his tall black boots. The pirate was clean and well-dressed for one of his profession; he had unruly black curls that creeped out from under his broad tricorn hat, a lightweight shirt with loose pants, and perhaps his most defining feature was a long black coat that was fit to him as though they'd been together their whole lives.

As Sherlock wiped the blood off of his sword and returned it to its sheath a member of his crew breathlessly rushed up to him.

"Captain…we can't…find…the cargo." The pudgy pirate said between gasping breaths. Sherlock frowned at the more recent addition to his crew, Michael Stamford was his name.

"What do you mean you can't find the cargo? This ship isn't that complex." Michael swallowed hard and dabbed his moist forehead with a soiled handkerchief.

"I know sir, but we looked everywhere below deck and couldn't find anything except the sleeping quarters, the captain's chambers, and the weaponry. Nothing else, not even drinking water." Sherlock's frown deepened and he opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a gun being fired.

"It came from below deck, come on." Sherlock said and he dashed towards the doors, Stamford lagging behind. Sherlock burst into the sleeping quarters, his feet splashing in the thin film of water that had collected on the floor. His eyes immediately fell upon the unconscious form of the idiot Anderson. Sherlock briefly wondered if he could get away with just calling Anderson "idiot" now that he was captain. As stupid as Anderson was he might've just slipped, knocked himself out, and accidentally fired his gun. Sherlock disregarded this theory when he saw blood on the water that was too distant from Anderson's body to belong to the idiot. He went into observation mode, taking in every detail of the room he could see, the single rifle on the rack, the layer of water on the floor, the organization of the hammocks, everything.

A sudden loud splash caused Sherlock to whip around with his sword drawn but the cold steel of his blade only met with the oversized tummy of Stamford. The man laughed nervously and stepped back from Sherlock's cold stare. _Took him long enough _Sherlock thought as he sheathed his sword and turned back around to search for the supposedly invisible cargo bay.

"CAP-!" Came the stifled shout of Michael Stamford accompanied with a metallic thunk. Sherlock spun around a second time to have the roles reversed from earlier and a sword pressed against his throat. Michael lay in a unconscious heap similar to Anderson's and the man who had done the deed was now glaring at Sherlock with enough rage to set fire to Sherlock's hat. The man before him was short by comparison with a muscular build and cropped blonde hair. He was clothed partially in a military uniform but much of it had been removed for comfort and most likely because it had become dirty. There was also a considerable amount of blood pouring from the man's shoulder.

"Leave it to Anderson to miss." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"Pardon?" The stranger asked.

"Oh, nothing." Sherlock said with a shrug to mask the hand that he was slowly bringing down to his sword.

"It's just, you shouldn't be alive." Sherlock said and he swatted his opponent's sword out of the way. The stranger only looked surprised for a moment before replying with a slash of his own. Sherlock hadn't anticipated the speed of the man's reaction and had to jump backwards so as to avoid the cut. Almost instantaneously the man lunged forward with another strike but Sherlock was prepared this time and he easily deflected it. The sailor pivoted and went in for another blow which Sherlock was only able to block because he was an exceptional swordsman. With a thrilled laugh Sherlock went in for his own attack which the stranger barely avoided. The battle was only starting to get good when the man was seized from behind by Sherlock's new first officer, Lestrade.

"Got 'im captain." Lestrade said with a triumphant grin only for it to be wiped off his face when the stranger elbowed him in the ribs and threw him unceremoniously to the floor. But the stranger lost his sword in the scuffle and as he was bending to retrieve it Sherlock pressed his cutlass to the man's neck.

"As much as I hate to cut our fight short I suggest you put your hands up if you wish to continue living."

"Why don't you just kill me? That's what pirates do, isn't it?" The man spat, not moving from his bent position.

"Hands. Up." Sherlock demanded, his voice like ice. The man stood and gave Sherlock another angry glare before Lestrade peeled himself off of the floor and looked to Sherlock for instructions.

"Tie him up." Sherlock said and he sheathed his sword again as the man's wrists were firmly immobilized behind his back.

"What's your name?" Sherlock asked the man with an amused smile, this stranger was oddly intriguing.

"Why should I tell you? You're just going to kill me anyways." The man said bitterly.

"Perhaps not, you're hiding something on this boat and I intend to find out what that is." Sherlock smiled inwardly as the man's eyes grew ever-so-slightly wider. But this man was not about to give up that easily, just as quickly as his eyes had widened, they narrowed.

"What makes you think we're hiding something on this boat?"

"No ship sails without provisions, especially drinking water. We boarded this boat in search of valuable cargo, considering the lengths you've gone to in order to hide it, it must be worthwhile." Sherlock leaned in close to the man and whispered

"I_ will _find it, and you're going to help me." Sherlock smiled.

"We'll see about that." The man smiled defiantly back.

"So what is your name?" Sherlock asked again. "I'm Captain Sherlock Holmes."

"John, my name is Doctor John Watson." John said and Sherlock smiled a bid wider.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Doctor; I believe you and I will soon be getting better acquainted." And with that he led the doctor up to the deck to meet the rest of his crew.


	2. Chapter 2

When John arrived on the deck he was greeted by the raucous shouts of the pirate crew. He was dragged up roughly and shoved to his knees before the rowdy group.

"Kill 'im!"

"Slit 'is throat!"

"Make 'im walk the plank!"

John swallowed hard, that was about as much fear as he allowed himself to show, but on the inside he was utterly terrified. His older sister Harriet had always told him terrifying stories of pirates when he was a kid, how they ruthlessly slaughtered their enemies, how they would throw still-living men into the ocean to slowly grow too tired to swim and drown, their bodies never recovered.

"SILENCE!" The pirate captain, Sherlock, called and the crew immediately obeyed.

"We're going to let him live." Sherlock stated and a murmur of disappointment passed through the crowd.

"For now." The cheering returned as a smirk crept onto the captain's face.

"There's treasure on this ship!" He shouted over the loud crew and their mouths shut rapidly with an audible snap.

"It's hidden but this man knows where it is." Sherlock said, grabbing John roughly by his collar and hoisting him up. John caught sight of some of the bodies of his crew then and it felt like a punch to the gut. All dead, not a single one of his friends had been spared.

"He doesn't want to tell us, but we'll make him." John tried not to think about the kind of torture the captain had in store for him. Yet despite his efforts, horrifying images of being skinned like an orange popped into his mind. The crew's hollers of "Brand him!" "Cut him!" and "Chop his fingers off!" weren't exactly subduing John's fears.

Sherlock raised his hand and the crew grew quiet once more.

"We'll hang him off the side; see how he likes hanging upside-down for a while." John looked out to the crowd and saw them frown; even by his standards the punishment was mild. He could think of dozens of tortures that would've been infinitely more excruciating and definitely more effective.

Sherlock didn't seemed phased by the lack of enthusiasm in his crew and began to drag John over to the side of the deck, he held his hand out for a coil of rope which was placed in his hand by the grizzled pirate first mate. He made quick work of tying up John's ankles and securing him to the ship's main mast, John didn't even struggle much when he was shoved over to the edge, he didn't want to be sentenced to a worse fate. With a rough shove from the captain John lost all sense of location as his world spun and twisted in a whirling dance before it was abruptly halted by John's shoulder crashing into the side of the ship.

Maybe this was going to be bad after all.

John could barely hear the sounds of the crew cheering as all the blood in his body came rushing to his head, muffling any sounds. His shoulder began to bleed at an increasing rate and his ankles were yanked painfully by the ropes.

"Brilliant…" John muttered under his breath as he bounced against the side of ship again…

And again…

And again…

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Sherlock already knew where the treasure was, it hadn't taken him more than a moment to figure out the secret room that contained the ship's cargo, it had been easy really.

First off, no self-respecting medical officer would've stayed below deck as his shipmates were being slaughtered by pirates.

Second: the rifle left below deck, the ship was minimally populated and was easily overpowered by Sherlock and his fellow pirates. A bit of extra firepower was something they had desperately needed, so the rifle left behind made no sense.

Third: the water on the floor below decks had barely reached Sherlock's toes near the edges, if the room was really as large as it appeared the water should have been higher at its corners, naturally raised by the rocking of the boat. The presence of water at all made a third level to the boat impossible, therefore, there had to be a hidden room for cargo.

So why had Sherlock let Dr. John Watson live? Because it presented an opportunity to secure the loyalty of his crew. "Torturing" a man to gain access to treasure would prove not only his ruthlessness, but also his intelligence, his resourcefulness, and most importantly, his ability to get his crew gold.

Gold was almost as important to a pirate as fresh water (mixed with rum of course) and Sherlock was fairly certain he'd be getting them some of that as well.

Of course if Sherlock was completely honest with himself, which he rarely was, he was keeping John around for another reason. John intrigued him somehow, Sherlock had known nearly everything about the man with a single glance and yet he had managed to contradict half of it within the first few moments of interaction with Sherlock.

John had chosen not to kill Anderson (darn) or Stamford, yet he had gone all out in trying to gut Sherlock.

He had dutifully stayed below decks, perhaps also motivated by fear. Yet in his battle with Sherlock he had depicted such rage and bravery his previous actions seemed almost illogical.

He had shown the signs that every navy officer does, the hardened look of one who has seen too much, the haunted glaze of the eyes, the deterioration of intelligence, the complete disregard of pain that can only come from years of having to deal with a similar pain day in and day out. Yet Sherlock had seen John's mask slip away to reveal a deep pain when he saw the bodies of his fellow officers. He had witnessed John display intelligence far beyond the average sailor.

Most people adhered to one state of being, one constant way of life, John didn't. He contradicted.

Sherlock liked him.

That's why he had allowed him to live; there weren't many opportunities for decent conversation out here on the high seas surrounded by blade-wielding simpletons and barely/somewhat/mostly tolerable individuals such as Lestrade. There were so few people on par with Sherlock he had lost hope of ever meeting someone who he could actually converse with without reverting to the English he learned when he was four.

John had indicated he might just be able to keep up with the quick-minded pirate, and Sherlock wasn't about to send that walking off the plank just yet.

Sherlock had John outside his window, quite literally in fact. John was dangling just outside the porthole of the captain's chambers on the ship Sherlock had just taken as his own. This positioning was far from accidental; Sherlock was going to speak with the good doctor.

"Good evening." Sherlock called through the open window.

"Is it?" John responded.

"Pardon?"

"Is it evening?" Sherlock walked up to window and saw that John's shirt had come loose from his belt and was now covering his face quite entirely.

With a 'oh' Sherlock reached through the window and awkwardly tucked John's shirt back in. He was only slightly reluctant to do so as John did have a rather nice torso.

From a scientific stand point, that is.

"Thanks." John said while trying to move himself to face Sherlock, it was a less than successful attempt and John gave up with a sigh.

"I know." Sherlock stated and John frowned in confusion.

"I know about the hidden room for the cargo." The pirate clarified. Despite John's position, all the blood drained from his face and his eyes widened. Sherlock could see his Adam's apple move as he swallowed hard and it was rather amusing.

"I suppose that's it for me then." John said, it wasn't a question, he knew he was going to die.

Except he wasn't, not if Sherlock could help it.

"I'm not going to kill you."

"You mean not _yet_." John said, his eyes turned down (or was it up?) in resignation.

"No, I mean not ever. I'm not going to kill you." The doctor looked up, a terrified kind of hope shining in his eyes. As though he was afraid to let himself believe there was even a chance of survival.

"What? Is this some kind of play on words? Are you going to have someone else kill me, is that it?" Sherlock smirked.

"No, you are going to be spared. Period."

There was a pause.

"ARE YOU BLOODY KIDDING ME!?" John exploded, his face grew even redder and the blood began to pump out of his shoulder at an increased rate. Sherlock had forgotten about the shoulder.

"YOU'RE GOING TO SPARE ME, BUT YOU KILLED EVERYONE ELSE!?"

"THEY WERE MY FRIENDS! MY _FAMILY_! WHY WOULD YOU LET ME LIVE AND TAKE AWAY FROM ME EVERYTHING I CARE ABOUT!?"

"YOU BASTARD! I WOULD RATHER DIE HANGING FROM MY ANKLES THAN BE ALLOWED TO LIVE BY THE MAN RESPONSIBLE FOR RUINING MY LIFE!"

John then proceeded to demonstrate just how in depth his knowledge was of a sailor's more explicit vocabulary in one, long sentence.

Sherlock was taken aback by this outburst, he had figured that John would be grateful, not enraged. John was thrashing about violently as he shouted but as Captain Sherlock stood gaping at him he gradually slowed and stopped. Sherlock let out a relieved puff of air, grateful not only that John had stopped, but also that no one onboard had heard his rant. But Sherlock's relief was short lived as he realized to what extent John had ceased his antics. He was completely limp and his eyes were glazed over.

"John?" Sherlock asked, concern creeping into his voice.

"John, are you alright?" The captain reached out of his window and prodded the doctor's body. There was no reaction.

Panicking, Sherlock leaned as far out of the window as he could and wrapped his arms around John's unconscious body, pulling him into the ship. His ankles were still being held by the rope so Sherlock removed the sword from his belt and severed them with a quick slice.

John's full weight suddenly came down and both the captain and the doctor fell backwards into the room, the doctor directly on top of Sherlock. He had to roughly shove John in order to free himself, but when he did he was greeted by an unwelcome sight.

John was as pale as ivory, his entire face ashen now that he wasn't upside-down. Sherlock scrambled over to his side and pressed his ear to John's chest. His heart was still beating but it was far too weak for Sherlock's taste, he needed that heart to be as strong as John's temper had been only moments ago. It was moments like these that Sherlock was grateful for his abilities (which he wasn't always) because he needed to only do a visual sweep of the room to know precisely where the medical supplies were.

He retrieved them and flew to John's side, tearing open the blood-soaked shirt to reveal the wound.

"Leave it to Anderson to hit." Sherlock muttered as he began to wrap the injury with linens, another doctor would have to remove the bullet as Sherlock possessed neither the knowledge nor the precision to do it himself.

Sherlock nearly leapt out of his skin as John stirred, letting out a sleepy moan. _Well at least he's still intact mentally _Sherlock thought as he washed away some of the blood that coated John's (no, Sherlock wasn't distracted by it) chest with his flask of whiskey.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Sherlock was on his back, a strong hand wrapped firmly around his throat and a pair of thick legs constraining his movements. John's face was inches from Sherlock's and he was breathing heavily so that every enraged breath brushed across the captain's cheeks and rustled his dark curls. Sherlock's mind went amazingly, frightfully, _beautifully, _blank as he stared into the multicolored eyes of John Watson. He waited for the doctor to do something, perhaps tighten his fingers and cut off Sherlock's breath, or smash his head into the hard wooden planks of the floor. But John just continued to hold Sherlock down and gaze harshly into his eyes.

"…John?" The man in question took a deep breath and released Sherlock from his grasp. He sat back with an exhausted look on his face and Sherlock sat up slowly, trying to gauge the doctor's emotions.

"Sorry." John muttered, running his hand over his face.

"Well, that's not exactly how I'd hoped the conversation would go, but it was rather entertaining." Sherlock said with a shrug as he got to his feet. Oddly enough, the doctor smiled gently at that.

Perhaps attempting to talk with a man hanging by his ankles over the side of a ship was not the best decision.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock quickly discovered that time passed rapidly when one was provided with interesting conversation. Sherlock didn't realize just how much he had craved it until John came along and they started talking.

John was a good read, meaning Sherlock enjoyed deducing his past, but John could always tell it better. He was the kind of sailor who could tell a tale so blatantly false it made Sherlock's sides ache with laughter but he could also tell true stories with captivating detail that Sherlock drank in like a pirate drank rum.

But Sherlock knew it couldn't last, his men were getting suspicious of all the time he'd spent alone in the captured ship's captain's quarters. And they were growing anxious, anxious for the gold Sherlock had promised them. John would have to be-

"What kind of name for a ship is that?"

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted by John's question.

"Hmm?" He said as he glanced out of the window at his ship.

"Pistoris? That's a strange name for a ship." John repeated, gesturing at the pirate ship with his chin.

"We captured her a few years back, surprisingly sturdy, fast, and well-equipped. So we kept her, the crew has become rather fond of her so I don't believe we'll be changing any time soon." Sherlock answered absent-mindedly.

"Huh." John muttered with a smile.

"What?"

"I just didn't figure you for the kind of man to refer to his ship as 'her'." Sherlock looked over at his ship with one of the rare smiles he gave only in the presence of the doctor.

"But what's with the name?"

"It's Latin for The Baker."

"That's a terrible name for a ship!" John said with a laugh and Sherlock couldn't help but smile back.

"Perhaps, but she's never failed us." The doctor nodded appreciatively then cocked his head in that way that made Sherlock want to…no, not hug him, that was ridiculous.

"Why is there a skeleton on the bow?" John asked and Sherlock grinned.

"Friend of mine, well…I say friend." And they both laughed heartily at the odd skeleton that replaced the wooden maiden at the bow of The Baker.

* * *

"CAPTAIN!" Came the voice of the first mate, Lestrade, as Sherlock had introduced him. John was quickly moved over to the closet where he was roughly shoved in and the door shut in his face.

Peeking through a crack John could see Lestrade burst through the door of Sherlock's temporary chambers and begin to hurriedly explain something to the pirate captain. Sherlock looked worried, his eyebrows drawn, but he nodded to his first mate and the man exited.

"John, you can come out now." Sherlock called and John emerged from the closet.

"What was that about?" He asked.

"The crew has become restless, they're demanding I deliver the treasure or they'll mutiny." John's jaw fell open and his eyes went wide.

"Honest?"

"Well, they most likely used far less accurate grammar but the message was the same." Sherlock responded, an indifferent expression plastered to his face. "I'm sorry John."

Now THAT had John worrying, even though the doctor had only known Sherlock for a couple of weeks he was well aware of the fact that he did _not _apologize. For anything. Ever.

Sherlock continued to look uncaring as he paced around to John's back. The doctor himself was too preoccupied with trying to find a way to save his skin to notice the captain unsheathe his sword.

Then, before John even had the time to look surprised, Sherlock knocked him out cold with the hilt of his blade.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock could tell well before he arrived above deck that his crew was displeased. He could hear their angered shouts reverberating through the wooden planks of the deck. When he emerged on the surface the crew became silent, Sherlock's piercing stare and commanding presence shut them right up.

"You want your gold?" Sherlock asked. It was a silly question really; _of course _they wanted their gold. But Sherlock was well versed in the art of manipulation, in order for them to be truly satisfied he would need to get them drooling for treasure like starving dogs before giving it to them.

The crew cheered in response, a whole-hearted 'yes' to anyone who could understand Pirate.

"Then follow me."

With a dramatic turn that sent his coat whirling about him like a cloud of shadowy smoke, Sherlock led them down the stairs and into the room where he had first met John.

_Brilliant, am I going to begin classifying things by how they relate to John now?_ He thought as he stepped into the center of the room. He stood for a moment before gesturing to the lone rifle on the weapons rack, the one he had taken note of earlier.

"Lestrade, if you would be so kind as to pull that rifle off the rack." He said.

"Why? How is that going to get us our money?" Said Anderson. Sherlock regarded the idiot coldly; he was dressed simply in dirty rags and was easily deduced at a glance.

"Perhaps a better question would be how are you handling the little 'token of affection' left to you by that woman you met ashore? Donovan wasn't it?" Anderson paled at his captain's words.

"But I've decided to ignore your inquiry because I find the opinion of a man diseased as yourself invalid." Sherlock smirked as Anderson bowed his head with a silent 'yes sir'.

Lestrade walked over to the rifle and attempted to pull it off the rack only to find it was stuck firmly in place. As his first officer continued to yank uselessly on the gun Sherlock frowned.

"There's always something." He muttered quietly under his breath as he stepped forward and pulled the trigger on the rifle. There was a moment of heavy anticipation as a sharp click echoed through the room.

Then, with a loud grinding of gears and a squeal of protest the entire back wall pivoted and opened just a crack. Sherlock slowly walked up to it as the crew stood staring, their jaws hanging open as their captain grabbed hold of the small ledge on the recently discovered door. With a yank, it swung open to reveal heaps of glimmering golden coins. The crew went absolutely wild, cheering gleefully, hugging each other and grinning at the massive piles of treasure. Lestrade and Sherlock were the only two not in excited motion over the fabulous discovery, Lestrade was only able to stand and gape in disbelief at the gold. Sherlock, on the other hand, wore an expression of indifference verging on hatred while looking upon the booty, for reasons only apparent to him.

Well, one reason really, a reason named John.

Anderson was the first to move, his apparent intent was to dive into the mountains of gold and jewels as one would dive into the ocean. The idiot was in full sprint when Sherlock stuck out his foot and the pirate's ankles were brought to a rather abrupt stop. As a result, Anderson collided face-first with the floor, causing the crew to stop their celebrations to figure out why their captain had decided to break Anderson's face.

"Are you an idiot Anderson?" Sherlock inquired with more bite to his words than he usually used, even in relation to the bumbling moron Anderson.

Before the man in question could respond Sherlock cut him off.

"Of course you are, why did I even ask?" With that cruel comment Sherlock pulled out his sword and swiped it across the floor in front of the hidden doorway. There was a sharp click followed by weighted silence. There was a brief moment that only lasted long enough for Sherlock to frown.

Then the wall of spikes concealed on the ceiling swung down and impaled the air where Anderson might've been had Sherlock not stopped him.

"You see, it's booby-trapped." Sherlock said as the idiot picked himself up of the floor.

"How did you know that was there?" Lestrade asked, a baffled look on his face that all the other pirates shared.

"It was obvious." The captain sniffed and when the expression of befuddlement didn't disappear he continued with an exasperated sigh.

"It makes absolutely no sense that the officers of this ship would leave their treasure _lying on the floor._ They would have kept it in locked chests or at least crates so it wouldn't roll around when the ship rocked and so it would be easier to transport. It was clearly a trap." Several members of the crew let out soft 'oh's of understanding, the others nodded in agreement as though they'd known the whole time.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gestured for everyone to go ahead in, the room now devoid of any traps. The men went back to cheering as they rushed into the room, throwing the coins like confetti, prying open other hidden compartments that containing water and other necessities. Each new discovery elicited more cries of joy from the pirates, all the pirates except two.

"What now?" Lestrade asked, his voice full of concern.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock responded, trying to hide his true emotions behind an apathetic mask.

"I know what's been going on between you and that John fellow. I know you've been talking with him in your spare time, not interrogating him. So what are you going to do with him now?" The first officer had never seen his captain take to someone so…

Never mind that, he had never seen Sherlock take to anyone _period._

And it seemed that the pirate wasn't out of surprises for his first officer just yet, for the next thing he said was like a cannonball to Lestrade's abdomen.

"I don't know." Sherlock replied sadly, the emotion in his voice and on his face was so out of place that Lestrade was tempted to hug the man. But the fact that Sherlock _didn't know_, the fact that he had openly admitted to not having the answers to the universe was enough to tear the air from Lestrade's lungs. This proved that the man that Lestrade had always known to be cold and distant as a stone wall really did have a heart, and it made the first officer's heart break just a little to see it hurt.

Truth be told he might've teased Sherlock about having a "friend" (wink-wink-nudge-nudge-say no more) if he didn't consider the tall, dark-haired pirate a friend himself.

Sherlock didn't allow Lestrade to continue his thoughts though; he interrupted with a sentence so loaded with pain it felt like a blade in Lestrade's side.

"We throw him overboard I suppose."


	5. Chapter 5

The moment John opened his eyes he regretted it, for beyond the safe darkness of his closed lids was a group of grinning pirates. And if experience had taught John anything, it was that nothing good ever happened when pirates smiled. He tried to move but his ankles and wrists were bound and his mouth gagged. One of the pirates (who John immediately decided he didn't like) shoved John onto the ground, his head connecting painfully with the deck.

"Step aside." Came the deep voice of _Captain _Sherlock Holmes and John wished more than anything that hearing that voice didn't hurt him as much as it did.

The sleek black boots were all John could see of the pirate since he was now laying on the ground. They walked up slowly to stand inches from the doctor's face before turning slowly on their heel.

"We're going to have him walk the plank." John's broken whimper was drowned out by the explosive cheering of the crew. He tried to push down the pain he felt at the betrayal, Sherlock was a pirate after all, he shouldn't have expected anything more.

"But first…" John twisted his head with great difficulty to get a better look at was going on, but all he managed to see was the inside of Sherlock's long black coat.

"We celebrate!" The captain called and John glimpsed the crew dispersing with shouts of glee. John felt someone grab him by the ankles and begin dragging him towards the pirate ship, he could see as others did something similar with chests and barrels that John immediately recognized as containing the cursed treasure.

Yes, cursed, that's why John was transporting it.

The story was that it had belonged to a rich prince in the Arab holy land, and when the crusaders had come to reclaim that realm they had destroyed much of the prince's kingdom and killed thousands of his people. When they finally breached the walls of the prince's palace, they slaughtered anyone they found in it. The crusaders found the prince, but with his last breath he cursed the treasures he kept to bring misfortune to all who possessed them. After that it had changed hands too many times to count, bringing bad luck to whomever it touched.

John wasn't superstitious, but the Dutch lord who had inherited the treasure from his deceased father (under suspicious circumstances, according to the noble) was. He had insisted that the treasure be sent away, and someone far above John's pay grade had decided that the English navy could use the money.

John wasn't superstitious, but all his friends had been ruthlessly murdered over this treasure and he was about to be chucked into the ocean to drown, so with only a few more hours left to live, John might just change his tune.

John's thoughts were stopped by hard wooden planks coming in contact with the back of his head.

"Oops, sorry." The pirate John had made the decision to dislike sneered.

"Anderson!" John lifted his head up slowly to see Sherlock striding over to the pirate with the stupid face.

"You will treat the prisoner with care or you will be replacing him." Sherlock stated coldly, his eyes piercing as daggers.

"Why? We're just going to kill him anyways." Pirate stupidface said. (No, John was not going to do him the honor of referring to him by his real name). Sherlock glared at the pirate, as though he could cause the man to spontaneously combust if he mustered enough hatred and rage in his gaze.

"Go help the others." The captain ordered through gritted teeth. Stupidface didn't need to be told twice, he scurried off, tail tucked between his legs as Sherlock took over moving John to the other ship.

He tried not to acknowledge the captain as he was transported from his ship, the Northumberland, to the Pistoris. He didn't want to think about the pirate who John had come to…

What? Trust? The betrayal had shattered that. What then? John searched his mind, but couldn't quite find a word for what he felt for this man he had known for all of three weeks.

All he knew was that he would've been willing to kill for the man; he wouldn't have had to think twice about it.

Sherlock dragged John down below the deck of the pirate ship, down to what John could imagine was the brig. The last thing he saw before the skies were swallowed up by the below-deck ceiling was his own ship being cut loose, completely picked clean by the pirates, to be left adrift on the sea.

The doctor was dragged across the muck-covered floors in a comparatively gentle manner by Captain Sherlock, but the "kind" way in which John was hauled through the stinking filth that coated the floors of the sleeping quarters did little to soothe his mind.

He was far too busy kicking himself mentally to notice.

How could he be so stupid!? Trust a pirate? He would've been better off courting a siren. Now he was being taken to a small cell where he would be given one night to stew over all the things he regretted having done and all the things he wished he had.

Then he would be thrown into the ocean to drown and slowly be picked apart by carnivorous fish and seagulls.

Bloody. Brilliant.

"John…" Sherlock whispered under his breath. The doctor didn't respond, he might've said something if he weren't gagged, although it probably wouldn't have been very nice.

"John…listen, I know what I said earlier, but you need to know that I was lying."

"Yuwllvuyinwomvafooathoamhamvfawumpi." Was the sound that came from John's mouth. What he meant to say was

"You'll be _lying_ on the floor after my hands are untied."

"John, despite all my intelligence I cannot understand you while you have a gag in your mouth." Sherlock said in irritation as he dropped John's ankles to the floor.

"Puck-ou!" The doctor said angrily, looking up to see the captain unlocking a small, dank cell that was no doubt intended for John.

"I understand your anger, it is completely justified, but I am asking you to listen to me." The captain said, John just made a muffled 'humph' sound as he was dragged into the cell.

He looked up in surprise as he felt his ankles being unbound but he only got a short glimpse as he was flipped onto his stomach. His wrists were untied, as was the (bloody disgusting) cloth in John's mouth and he immediately turned around and leapt up at Sherlock. He tried to punch the pirate, his anger finally coming out as he tried to get at the captain. But the doctor was grabbed from around his rage-blind strikes and shoved roughly onto his back with Sherlock hovering directly above him. John's heart stopped as the pirate stared into his eyes, their faces only inches apart.

"John, I'm not going to kill you, I said I wasn't going to and I intend to maintain that claim." Sherlock said, his voice barely above a whisper. John could feel the man's breath ghost across his face as the captain seemed to move even closer.

"I have prepared a lifeboat for you, when I throw you overboard the boat will be behind the ship; you will climb into it and sever the rope tying the dingy to the Pistoris. In the boat there are provisions for you for a few weeks." During this entire speech John hadn't taken a single breath, he was too concerned about what Sherlock was saying and how _close _he was.

"I would never kill you John, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding." Sherlock stated softly, still not moving from his position on top of John. The doctor gave up trying to breathe completely; his windpipe was blocked by the captain's captivating eyes staring into his own. They were like two silver coins, gleaming in the moonlight, so enticing.

Wait, what? Enticing? Where did that come from? Sherlock was a _man, _definitely, 100%, male (because you could never be too sure about these things on the high seas). Enticing was not a word to be used to describe a man.

"Right…" John said, clearing his throat awkwardly. This seemed to snap Sherlock out of his reverie for he tore his gaze from the doctor's and began to try and remove himself from the man's personal space.

Without much luck.

"Oh, sorry."

"Just move your…"

"Sherlock, that's my thigh…"

"I'm aware, just stop…"

"Ow!"

"Sorry, just hold still."

They finally managed to untangle themselves and sat on the floor across from each other, both trying not to acknowledge the oddness of the situation they had just been in.

"I better…" Sherlock began and John nodded.

"Yeah, you go."

They both stood up, the captain extended his hand for a handshake while the doctor simultaneously moved in for a hug, Sherlock wound up nearly punching John in the stomach and they parted ways with nothing more than a polite nod.

After the pirate was gone, John leaned his back against the wall and put his head in his hands.

This was going to be a long night.


	6. Chapter 6

The time had finally come for John to leave, Sherlock wasn't surprised, he had known this would happen for some time, but for some reason that did make the pirate feel any better.

Usually knowledge was Sherlock's relief from any kind of sentiment that was plaguing him. He could always rely on information to eliminate any kind of emotional interference, but not this time.

John was different, that had been made clear to Sherlock the previous day when the doctor and him had shared a- what was it people called it? A moment.

At least he wouldn't have to kill the man; there was still a small chance that he would see John again.

(_Which is a completely irrational hope! _Sherlock's analytical brain screamed)

The sun had only just risen when Lestrade brought the doctor onto the deck and the crew cheered at the sight of him; a part of Sherlock wished he could show his true emotions rather than mask them for the sake of his rank aboard the Pistoris.

John was brought up to the edge of the ship where Lestrade, the only other pirate besides Sherlock who wasn't smiling, drew his sword and forced the doctor out onto the plank.

Sherlock had always been good at suppressing his emotions, or hiding them if he couldn't contain them. But not at this moment, something about John seemed to bring out in Sherlock what he had tried to keep in; so seeing the doctor on the edge of the plank, knowing that he would probably never see him again, caused a single tear to leak from Sherlock's eye. As it slid down the captain's cheek, his face still a mask of indifference, John turned to look at him with the same pain in his eyes and just before reaching the edge of the plank Sherlock muttered two words

"Goodbye John."

And John jumped.

* * *

The cold water of the ocean hit John like a slap in the face, the salt immediately wormed its way into his eyes and he got more ocean in his mouth and up his nose than he would've liked. He began to furiously tread water to stay above the waves as he was carried back by the current. It took John a moment to spot the small raft in the early morning light, but when he saw it he swam towards it quickly. He grasped the edges of it and clambered into the small wooden craft to see a small blade on the floor obviously intended for John's use. He grabbed a neatly folded blanket that was also on the floor and wrapped it around himself to still his shuddering shoulders. The frigid waters of the Atlantic were hardly welcoming so John was grateful for Sherlock's planning ahead.

The doctor picked up the sword lying on the floor of the boat and carefully moved to the bow where the dinghy was tied by a rope to the Pistoris, he leant forward to cut the rope but hesitated with his blade resting against the cord.

Somehow he didn't want to go, he didn't want to leave behind the group of pirates responsible for the murder of his friends, his getting shot, hung upside down, and the robbery of the treasure he was transporting. Well, he wasn't particularly displeased about saying goodbye to pirate stupidface, but there was one person he would definitely miss.

Captain Sherlock Holmes.

Some small part of John wanted to believe he and the pirate would meet again, even if the chances of that were a million to one. He couldn't help hoping that he'd see those shimmering eyes one more time.

And there he goes again, off thinking about the eyes of another _man _in a fashion that should only be for women. He should not be thinking of the captain's eyes, his well-formed lips, his dark hair, those sharp cheekbones, the velvety timbre of that deep, soft voice…

No! Stop it!

John shook his head to clear out the thoughts and with a determined grimace on his face the doctor cut the rope, separating himself from Sherlock, probably forever. He sat in the boat as it bobbed in the waves, not rowing because of the unpleasant feeling in his gut. His nausea wasn't sea-sickness though, it was something else entirely, something far less simple.

John watched as the Pistoris sailed off into the distance, the sunrise tinting the surface of the water a soft orange and causing the broad white sails of The Baker to glow.

John watched, and watched as the Pistoris grew smaller and smaller on the horizon. He watched until his eyes ached and he was forced to look away. Fighting back the slight amount of liquid that had formed on the brims of John's eyes he pulled out the navigating equipment in the small compartment on the boat and after briefly ordaining a rough idea of where he was, John took hold of the oars and began to row himself in what was hopefully the right direction.

Unfortunately, that direction was away from Sherlock Holmes.


	7. Chapter 7

Storms were always bad news, even if the sight of lightning crackling across the sky and the boom of thunder and the scent of rain had a certain appeal. A kind of danger you can taste on the air that always made Sherlock feel slightly more alive.

But as was said, storms were always bad news.

The large waves had begun to rock the ship and the crew was scrambling to get everything tied down for the oncoming tempest. But despite the clear presence of danger, all Sherlock could think of was John.

How would the doctor fare in this storm? Unless he had somehow been saved already by a passing ship John would be in a great deal of danger, after all, the small life boat was not built for such conditions as the ominous clouds ahead promised.

"Oi! Captain! We need to secure the treasure, where do you want it?" Lestrade shouted over the howling wind, the pirate had to grip his hat as a cutting gust of air blasted those on deck, knocking Anderson clear off his feet.

"Secure it in the cargo hold, organize everything in a wide spread, packed together pattern so it holds itself in place." Sherlock hollered back, barely keeping loud enough so his words wouldn't be swallowed by the wind.

Lestrade nodded and ran off while the rest of the crew finished preparations for the storm.

_What about John, will he be alright? _Sherlock thought and immediately scolded himself, he needed to forget about John, otherwise he wouldn't be able to function at his highest capacity. The pirate briefly considered deleting all memory of the man but disregarded the idea instantly. He would not forget the doctor even if it seemed like the easy way out; the memories of the doctor were far too valuable.

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted by the first onslaught of rain; the cold drops hit him like buck shot as he was forced into motion.

Yet still, in the back of his mind, he was thinking (worrying) about John.

* * *

Meanwhile, John was already caught in the midst of the storm. The rain was pummeling him from what felt like every side as the enormous waves splashed over the sides of the small ship. The doctor had long ago lost any sense of direction and was now focused solely on keeping his boat from capsizing.

The storm blew at John, tossing him every which way, spinning and rocking the miniscule boat. The doctor was breathing heavily, and with each breath water came pouring into his mouth, he was barely able to open his eyes without them being flooded with salty liquid. The brief moments when John glimpsed the outside world, all he could see was darkness, interrupted only by the flash of lightning, which did little more than light up the barrage of rain for a split second. The rest of the world was consumed by the choking blackness of the storm, John himself felt as though, at any moment, the ocean would open its gaping maw and swallow him and his raft whole. Then he would be banished to the depths of that dark sea which seemed to be taking up more and more space at the bottom of the boat.

John couldn't distinguish between the roar of the rain, the crashing of the waves, and the boom of the thunder. It all just became one great cacophony of sound that exploded in John's ears with all the force of canon-fire.

He ached from the biting rain and the paralyzing coldness that came with it, John knew he was soaking wet but he was so thoroughly drenched that he could hardly remember what dryness felt like.

Yet despite the merciless attempts by the ocean to break John's spirit, his mind was too preoccupied with something else to allow any kind of victory to the sea.

John was far too concerned about Sherlock.

* * *

The storm was doing its utmost to dishearten the crew of the Pistoris, but these were the pirates under the command of Captain Sherlock Holmes and they were not so easily beaten. They raged against the storm almost as hard as the storm raged against them, this was due in no small part to Sherlock's intense, commanding nature.

He walked about on the rocking deck with balance and surety that was highly out of place amongst the chaos of the storm. Aside from his sopping clothes the pirate seemed almost untouched by the weather, his voice rang out above the din of the storm to command his crew, the confidence in his voice instilled a kind of ferocity in his fellow pirates so they felt something akin to excitement at the ocean's anger. They battled against it bravely and with Sherlock leading them their fear was all but nonexistent.

And still Sherlock thought of John.

* * *

John really wished he had a more adequate sailing vessel; the storm had completely destroyed both his oars so he had lost any control of his ship. John felt helpless in the clutches of the monstrous tempest, it yanked him and tore at him and slammed into him from every angle.

By this time John had given up trying to get a handle on the situation, he simply curled in on himself and sat huddled at the bottom of the dinghy, waiting for the storm to pass. He wasn't sure if the boat would survive this, he wasn't sure if _he_ would survive this. He might be shredded by the teeth and talons of the ravenous storm.

And still John thought of Sherlock.

* * *

Enough time had passed aboard the Pistoris so that no amount of confidence on the captain's part could compensate for the exhaustion of the crew. They had fought gallantly, and by all regards they had won, but their energy was not limitless. So, after they had been worn down to near nothingness, they retreated below to wait out the storm.

Sherlock sat among his crew, his black hair plastered to his face, looking to all others to be an equal of his men. He was, after all, equally drenched, equally cold, equally exhausted, and equally grim as any other members of his crew.

Though, the reason for the captain's graveness was far different than that of the others. They always felt this way when confronted by the fury of nature; it reminded some of how powerful the earth was and made them feel like small, cowering children under its strength. But to others, weather such as this was a reminder of God, and all that they had been taught about him when they were young. Being pirates, it was frightening to think of a higher power that despised those that sinned, and these pirates had definitely sinned. No one wanted to think that the storm was punishment for their wrongdoings, and no one wanted to think that they had pissed off something that much more powerful than themselves.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was thinking about John.

* * *

John wasn't even aware of himself anymore, he had lost track of his own existence, all he could think of now was a certain pirate with silvery eyes and hair; the dark storm had engulfed John.

If he was going to die, he might as well come to terms with what he felt for Sherlock Holmes. I mean, there was no point in denying what he felt for the sake of what was considered acceptable when he was most likely about to be torn to ribbons by a damn rain storm.

John kind of felt like making a very rude gesture at the storm, but he couldn't really figure out where his…anything was, so he went back to thinking about Sherlock.

Yes, the man was gorgeous, fuck what society said about the use of adjectives in relation to sexuality. (Yes, John's cursing does go up in direct relation to how fucked his situation becomes)

Sherlock's eyes were like the moon the way they shone in the light, but they could also be dark like the new moon, they could blaze like molten silver and be cold like frigid frozen ponds.

Sherlock had skin like ivory, it was smooth to the touch (don't ask John how he knows that) and it almost glowed when the light hit it right. John would love to see more of it, to lay his eyes upon the pirate's torso, to see the skin all stretched out before him.

Sherlock had lovely hair like ink that John wished he could run his fingers through.

Sherlock's mouth was like a bow for launching arrows, and those were arrows were the every syllable that Sherlock spoke, each struck his heart and poisoned him more. Sherlock's voice was like silk and every word wove out new and beautiful patterns.

John was in love with him.

Well, at least we got that out of the way. John needed to figure out what he'd been feeling towards the man, and he apparently he needed to be near to death to see past the fact that Sherlock was a man.

Now he could die…well perhaps not in peace, but at least not in confusion.

And almost in response to John's realization the storm struck the doctor once more, harder and faster than before and it sent the doctor's head crashing into the rim of the ship, knocking him unconscious.

And up until that moment, John had been thinking of Sherlock.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock awoke in the comfy (by comparison to the hammocks) bed of his chambers, he was sore, but that was to be expected after what had been happening the previous day. A quick glance at the porthole revealed that the storm had passed, the sun shone through it and into Sherlock's eyes. Yet there came no feeling of relief at the passing of the storm, only the thought that there was no way John could've survived that. There was simply no way.

The captain dragged himself out of bed, it was a simple task to ignore the aches and pains that came with moving, Sherlock merely banished them to the back of his mind and got to work dressing.

Thankfully his clothes had dried overnight; it would have been highly unpleasant to have to wear damp clothing. But it was dry so Sherlock pulled on a lightweight shirt, trousers, his belt with his pistol, his sword, his long black coat (which he was quite fond of though he'd never admit it), he pulled on his boots and without bothering to try and run a comb through his disobedient hair he placed his hat upon his head. Then the room became suddenly dark.

Sherlock whirled around and ran to the window to see the side of a ship that was blotting out the light, the captain could just barely make out the name of the ship on the side.

_The Dominatrix_

Sherlock sprinted out of his chambers and shouted to arouse his snoring crew.

"Up! Up! All hands on deck!" The captain called and more than one pirate went tumbling to the floor in surprise. Others groggily stumbled out of their hammocks and it took a great deal longer than Sherlock would've liked for them to arrive above.

The ship was right next to the Pistoris, it was actually smaller by comparison but its large black sails cast a dark shadow over Sherlock and his fellow pirates.

"Who's that?" Lestrade muttered from next to the captain and Sherlock frowned and shook his head.

"Irene Adler." He said as he looked up at the pirate flag that was flying from the top of The Dominatrix. It was a skull with crossed riding crops.

"Ahoy!" Came a distinctly female voice and the whole crew stared open-mouthed at the woman who was standing on the other ship's deck.

She was quite attractive, not that it mattered, it had been long enough since Sherlock's crew had seen another woman that she could've looked like an octopus and the pirates probably wouldn't have minded.

Several other women appeared and they laid a plank across the gap between the two ships and one woman began to walk across it.

Every single pirate aboard the Pistoris was gaping at this woman, she was stunning, with thin smiling lips the color of blood and dark hair that was impossibly well kempt for one living on a ship.

She was clothed in tall black boots, tight pants and a short coat that fit so well it looked tailored. She hopped down onto the deck and with a mischievous glint in her dark blue eyes she sauntered over to Sherlock. The crew parted to make way for her, every man taking time to admire her lithe figure and the agility that was promised in her taught muscles.

"Hello Sherlock." The woman said as she pushed her way into the captain's personal space.

"Hello Irene." Sherlock replied, the woman smiled at him and stepped back.

With a wave of her hand the other members of her crew came aboard the Pistoris. They each introduced themselves to Sherlock's crew with a bow or curtsy, and every man was paralyzed by the sudden appearance of females. _They really can be so simple-minded sometimes_, Sherlock thought with a roll of his eyes.

"Soo-Lin-Yao." One dark-haired Asian woman said, her heavy accent clouding her words.

"Kitty Riley." A redhead said with a wink at Sherlock. He recalled the woman and did not like her; she was repulsive to say the least.

"Kate." Said the other redhead and Irene shared a lucid look with her.

"Louise Mortimer." Said a dark-skinned woman that had Anderson drooling. He did have a thing for darker women.

"Sarah Sawyer." Said a simple brunette that Sherlock didn't like the look of.

"Dr. Stapleton." An elderly woman said, she didn't bother to flirt with the men; she was clearly the doctor of the ship and was not interested.

"And this is my first officer, Molly Hooper." Irene introduced the mousy brunette and put her arm around the blushing girl. Though she looked less-than-average, Sherlock could tell she had some hidden talent by the way she held herself.

Sherlock's crew was about to do introductions as well but Sherlock shut them up and said.

"While it is good to see you once again Irene, I would like to know what you're doing here." The woman grinned and her eyes flitted to the ground. Sherlock took notice of this, so Irene knew about the treasure. How exactly she knew he couldn't be sure, but she knew alright.

"Come have a chat with me Mr. Holmes." She said and beckoned Sherlock with her long, thin fingers.

The captain obeyed, but the other members of his crew could only look on jealously as their captain was dragged off by the pirate beauty. Of course they had completely misinterpreted Sherlock's intentions, but that was only to be expected, they weren't the most brilliant bunch.

Irene led Sherlock to her chambers, they were far more luxurious than his own with fine fabric sheets and smooth foreign woods making it up.

"Have a seat." She said coquettishly, patting a spot on her bed next to where she was seated.

"I'd rather stand, if you don't mind." Sherlock said with a false smile. He knew from experience that it was a bad idea to sit too close to Irene Adler.

She pouted and stood up.

"Always so formal Mr. Holmes, you really ought to loosen up more." She said as she ran her hand along his shoulders and chest. As she stepped away from him he held out his hand expectantly.

"I'll loosen up when I no longer have to worry about you robbing me." She smiled and place Sherlock's keys in his palm. Her coy smile disappeared and the expression that was as close to serious as she could manage took its place.

"Down to business then." Irene said with a sigh as she sunk once more down onto her bed.

"I know what you have and I'm fairly certain you know what I want." She stated and Sherlock nodded curtly in agreement.

"The treasure." He said, and Irene smiled in a fashion that made Sherlock cringe internally. That smile was not a good sign.

"Not necessarily, if you give me what I _really_ want you won't have to part with a single doubloon of that treasure." She said, a threatening kind of amusement in her voice. Sherlock frowned in confusion.

"And what is it you _really_ want?" He said cautiously.

"Dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Dinner with you, Mr. Holmes." She said standing up and moving close enough to Sherlock so he could smell her perfume.

"I don't have many exotic dishes but I'm sure Angelo could prepare whatever you desire." Irene froze and took a deep breath.

Sometimes she really wished Sherlock understood euphemisms.

"No Sherlock dear, _dinner._" She whispered in his ear while running her hands along his long legs. He let out a soft 'oh' of understanding before clearing his throat awkwardly and stepping away from Irene.

"What is it?" She asked. This was unlike Sherlock, not that he'd ever reciprocated her advances, but he'd never rejected them before. Sherlock tried to brush off the question, but Irene was almost as sharp as he was.

"Something's changed, what's happened?" She asked, moving towards him as he moved away.

"Nothing." He replied, but there was a lack of firmness in his voice that furthered Irene's suspicions. She backed him into the wall and trapped him.  
"What happened?" She asked once again, this was more of a command than anything else though. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and she could see as he worked to find an adequate answer. But his mind was always either dulled or sharpened by her presence, and right now it was dulled.

Then Irene figured it out. She was both enraged and delighted by the realization, but mostly enraged.

"Who is she?"

"Who is who?" Sherlock responded, trying his best to look ignorant.

"Who's the girl whose come along and stolen your heart? Your stone cold, distant, unattainable, heart." She said, her fingernails forming a claw around where his heart was, as though she could tear it out at any moment.

Sherlock paused for a moment and thought, Irene wouldn't behave in this way unless she was convinced that someone had "stolen Sherlock's heart". And Irene was not easily convinced. But who could've done such a thing? Sherlock couldn't recall an individual who'd had such an effect on him, Sherlock had never allowed anyone-

Oh.

"John." Sherlock muttered in realization and Irene's fingers dug into his flesh like a cat that had extended its claws.

"_What?_" She said, her voice filled to the brim with anger.

Why, oh why did Sherlock have to say that out loud?  
"Deal's off Sherlock, I think I'll take all your treasure and your crew and throw you into the ocean." She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him above deck while he was still struggling to accept what he had just realized.

John had stolen his heart.

He tore himself out of Irene's grip and drew his sword, but Irene only smiled and gestured across to his ship.

Every member of Sherlock's crew was on their knees with a dagger being held to their throat by one of Irene's pirates.

"Either you walk the plank, or I slit their throats."

"How do I know you won't kill them anyways?" Sherlock asked, sheathing his sword slowly.

"You have my personal guarantee; besides, they'll die no matter what if you don't jump." Irene said sweetly, Sherlock had never had never been a fan of sweets so the sugary tone of her voice made his stomach ache.

"Very well." He said.

"NO!" Lestrade called and he tried to get up. This was rewarded by him getting hit over the head by the unassuming Molly Hooper.

Sherlock tightened his jaw and held up his hand to stop any other attempts by his crew.

"This isn't her entire crew, undoubtedly there are more below deck with their canons aimed at our hull, stay where you are." Sherlock called. He turned to where the plank was and walked over and onto it. He spared a glance at Irene before removing his hat and tossing it down onto the deck.

Then he turned towards the open ocean, spread his arms like a bird about to take flight, and dove gracefully into the water.


	9. Chapter 9

John woke up to a skull splitting headache, but he fact that he woke up at all was enough to make him grin. He laughed like a madman and spread his arms out wide as if to hug the broad blue sky above him.

He opened his eyes to the afternoon sun and thanked God he had made it.

Now where the heck was he?

He sat up (a little too quickly, ow) and opened the storage compartment at the front of the boat, and water came pouring out.

"Shit." John muttered as he evaluated what had survived the storm.

The drinking water, dried meat and fruit were well sealed so they had survived. But his navigational equipment had not fared so well. His telescope was cracked and his sextant had been smashed. There was a soggy clump of what John was pretty sure had been his map.

And on top of that, his oars had been reduced to splinters.

The blanket he had was in relatively good shape so he could probably form a kind of tent out of it to keep the sun off his neck. The blanket was the wrong material and had too many holes to be used as a sail so this was its best use.

John had no way of controlling his course so he would just have to wait, ration his supplies, and hope beyond hope that he would survive.

* * *

Sherlock didn't try to keep up with The Dominatrix and the Pistoris as they sailed away; he knew it was useless, especially since the waves were pushing him the other way.

He would have to be strategic about this, he didn't have any food or water but Sherlock had never required much. Energy was the biggest concern here, he could only ignore his muscle's discomfort for so long before they simply gave up and he'd drown. Thankfully Sherlock was an excellent swimmer and could tread water conservatively so as to last as long as physically possible.

But even so, in the open ocean there was very little chance that Sherlock would find or be found by a ship. Finding land was even less likely, so why even try right?

But Sherlock would try, he would do his utmost to survive this even if the probability of doing so was so slim. Sherlock, for once in his life, preferred not to do the math.

Hour 1

Sherlock knew it was unwise to keep track of time; each hour that passed would undoubtedly have a negative effect on his morale. Sherlock was trying to keep himself distant from the situation, periodically venturing into his mind palace to distract himself. He catalogued and organized and explored the various rooms and hallways in his mind before he found his way to the room full of John, what better way to pass the time?

Hair: Blonde, but not completely, it was probably a darker shade but had been bleached by the sun. It didn't look smooth or soft but it still gave Sherlock an odd urge to run his hand through it and-

Face-full of salt water.

This wasn't going to be as easy as Sherlock had hoped.

Hour 2

Skin: Tan, but not evenly, John's torso was pretty evenly bronzed so he probably spent some time on deck shirtless.

Mmmmm…shirtless. Sherlock would have to explore that further.

Hour 3

Eyes: Multicolored. They weren't consistent, like John, so naturally they were one of Sherlock's favorite traits of John's. They kind of reminded him of spices, they carried the warm brown of cinnamon in a ring around the edge that slowly melted into a warm yellow like mustard. There were flecks of orange and near red like turmeric and paprika littered among the soft green of dried bay leaves that became brighter like cilantro near the middle. And those colors were always changing, sometimes John's eyes were dark blue like poppy seeds and sometimes they were a warm brown like cumin.

Sherlock hoped he could see those eyes again.

Hour 4

Now Sherlock's energy had begun to wane so he was no longer able to keep himself above the waves, they hit in the face with enough consistency that he was having great difficulty drowning out the sensation of them.

Drowning. Poor choice of words.

Hour 5

Sherlock didn't actually feel the burning in his muscles, he had rerouted that information elsewhere in his mind, but he was aware of it.

He was aware that his arms ached with every stroke and that his legs protested to every kick.

He was aware that his lungs were having to work doubly hard to supply his limbs with adequate oxygen.

But he couldn't allow himself to feel it; otherwise he would have drowned hours ago.

Sherlock was probably going to drown anyways, but he was going to try to survive, if for no other reason than to go through the information on John one more time.

Hour 6

If the blackness that had formed around Sherlock's line of sight was any indicator, he wasn't going to last much longer. He had expelled all of his energy; he knew he wasn't physically capable of staying above water for longer than one more hour.

Sherlock closed his eyes and retreated once more into his mind palace, the numbness of his body now making it impossible to be distracted.

John's voice, his laugh, his smile…

John.


	10. Chapter 10

Hour 7

John was ready to punch a hole in the nearest _anything._ Putting up the blanket for shade had proven to be incredibly frustrating.

"Son of a bitch!" John shouted to the air for what felt like the millionth time as the blanket once again fell onto him. After fighting his way out from underneath the unpleasant grey wool he threw the blanket onto the floor angrily.

John looked out onto the sea and sighed, but he caught his breath when he saw something on the horizon.

A spot of black, nothing more, just a little speck of darkness floating on the surface of the water.

John instantly dove towards the storage compartment and pulled out the cracked telescope, putting it to his eye he searched for the black speck once again.

It was difficult to see through the broken lens but the doctor finally spotted what he had been looking for. He didn't know what it was, but if it consisted of anything that could be used he could very well need it. In his particular situation, any little scrap of anything could mean the difference between life and death.

Now how to get to the thing?

John knew that if he abandoned the raft to swim to it he or the ship could be carried off by the current. Then he would definitely die, but he didn't have any oars with which to row over to the object. John rubbed his eyebrow pensively before coming to a decision.

In the boat there was also a coil of rope that John could tie around himself and to the boat that way he could swim out to the object. Tying one end of the rope firmly around his torso and the other end to the bow of the boat the doctor looked out to the endless ocean to confirm where the black shape was. Stepping nervously to the edge of the raft John took a deep breath, and jumped in.

Onboard the boat the air was hot and dry with the sun beating down on John's neck so the frigid water was quite a shock. The doctor kicked to the surface and took an exaggerated breath as he battled against the shivers that had begun to wrack his body.

Perhaps this hadn't been the best of plans.

But it was too late to turn back now; John was already in the water so he might as well go get whatever the thing was. Paddling towards the place where he had last seen the object, the waves doing their best to interfere with his swimming, John swam. Grateful for the fact that he was a good swimmer John got close enough so he could see the object floating on the surface of the water, it looked to be made of some kind of heavy, dark fabric, but there seemed to be something wrapped inside it.

Food?

Navigating equipment?

A sail?

John could only guess…and hope.

The doctor was within a few meters of the thing when he saw it, a leg, with a foot attached to it and a long black boot on that foot. John barely kept himself from gasping and inhaling seawater when he saw it.

It was a person, a real person.

For some bizarre reason John hoped the person was still alive, he knew that an extra mouth to feed would only decrease his chances of survival. But John still wanted the person to be alive, the consequences be damned.

"Hang on! I'm going to help you!" John shouted into the air, hoping the stranger could hear him and wouldn't get them both drowned when John took hold of them.

Picking up the pace in his swimming John finally came upon the man, it was probably a man, he was wearing men's clothing and had short black hair. Wrapping his arm around the man and turning onto his back John began to swim back to the boat, he had to kick twice as hard to transport the dark-haired man and it caused his lungs to burn more with every few meters he travelled.

At least the man was unconscious; John had dealt with drowning soldiers before and they never reacted well, the moment something came along that they could use to save themselves they would grab hold of it and use it to keep themselves afloat. Often times that thing was John, they would grab him and shove him down, desperate to survive they didn't really care if they hurt, or even killed, someone in the process.

This guy was out cold so the doctor didn't have to worry about that, and a good thing too, with the mood he was in John would've probably just knocked the man out anyways.

The two men neared the boat and when they were a few feet from the raft something occurred to John.

What if the man wasn't alive?

He would definitely have at least _some _useful supplies, but what about the…other thing?

NO

No, John wasn't going to even consider cannibalism until he was practically starved to death, and not even then if he found the other man was alive.

They finally reached the boat and John was forced to momentarily let go of the stranger to drag himself into the boat. It was no easy task because the doctor's limbs felt like lead from the swimming and dragging. He flopped down into the boat and took a moment to catch his breath before sitting up and looking over the edge.

The man had turned face-down while John had been climbing into the dinghy.

"Shit!" John cursed and he reached over the edge to grab the man around the middle, he was even heavier outside of the water. With a strained groan John heaved the man into the boat. He turned over to the stranger and his heart stopped, his breath stopped, everything stopped.

"Sherlock…"


	11. Chapter 11

No

Nonononononononononononononono…

NO!

John couldn't believe what he was seeing, it was impossible. He must be hallucinating! Or something of the sort, Sherlock couldn't be here, he couldn't! Out of all the people in the world, and all the ones on the sea, and all of them who wound up half-drowned in the middle of-

DROWNED!

Scrambling to check Sherlock's pulse John was terrified for the briefest of moments while his fingers waited for the light sensation of pumping blood in the pirate's neck.

It was there, thank god, relatively strong considering how bad a situation Sherlock had been in.

Why had he been floating in the middle of the ocean? How had he survived? All questions that the captain would have to answer when he woke up. But for now John needed to focus on getting both of them in a survivable situation.

That meant food and water for the clearly dehydrated and exhausted pirate, John would also need to get that blanket up and block the harsh sunlight. Not to mention how bad John was shivering, this portion of the ocean was far from the Caribbean and did not have the same temperate waters. No, the North Atlantic was a cold and unforgiving mistress with frigid waters and vicious storms.

First things first, warmth. John could feel the chill begin to seep into his bones with every passing moment and he was sure the same was true for the unconscious pirate.

Leaning over to Sherlock he peeled off the heavy dark coat, with great difficulty that is. The fabric was fairly glued to the man, weighed down by the water that soaked it through. And on top of that, Sherlock's body behaved like a rag doll, a rag doll that weighed a bloody ton! So every time John tried to pull an arm out of a sleeve the whole body would flop around uselessly, the doctor was yanked off his feet several times during the ordeal. But after much effort, Sherlock was decently de-clothed.

…

That came out more awkward than I intended…

Ahem…

Sherlock was no longer being suffocated by his sopping wet clothes. John, on the other hand, was still drenched with cold water but had long ago gone numb. He pulled the blanket out of the corner of the boat and wrapped it around himself and Sherlock.

"Don't worry mate, this isn't what it looks like." John muttered into Sherlock's damp curls that had wound up on the doctor's shoulder. After a brief pause John's mouth twitched a little and he said

"Well, maybe it is, but you've got nothing to worry about, I'll make sure you're well taken care of."

"Not that I'm motherly or anything like that, I just am not letting you die until I get the chance to talk to you again. That's all."

Glancing at Sherlock's calm face, relaxed in his unconsciousness, John sighed.

"And you're really not awake are you? I shouldn't talk to an unconscious body; I'll go mad before I've even been out here a week."

After a few more minutes of silence that John really couldn't tell was awkward or not, the doctor decided Sherlock was warm enough, and being still not awake he would have to find a way to hydrate the man.

Gently lowering him onto the bench that lay across the two sides of the dinghy John retrieved one of the vials of water from the storage compartment. Lifting Sherlock onto his lap, John opened his mouth and pinched his nose shut.

"C'mon Sherlock, can't have you dying of thirst now can we?" Thankfully, Sherlock was very relaxed; this was even harder if the person was tense. The liquid slid easily down the pirate's throat and John let out a small sigh at knowing that Sherlock would be alright.

Then, after having given the captain a satisfactory amount of water, John allowed himself a small sip. He wished he could say he was trying to be conservative, but in truth he was trying to save as much of the water for Sherlock as humanly possible. Why?

Because John was selfish, he wanted the pirate to live because…well…you know.

Or, at least, you _should _know, if you've been paying attention to the story.

Anyways, the doctor returned to Sherlock's side and was about to lay his head down on his lap (So Sherlock would be more comfortable, obviously) when he noticed two grey eyes peering at him between heavy lids.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!"


	12. Chapter 12

After losing consciousness from exhaustion Sherlock had begun to dream, a rarity in the case of the pirate. Usually he kept a firm leash on his subconscious, not allowing his mind to wander unnecessarily while he was sleeping, something he didn't do very often as it was. But he had dreamt, most likely due to his weakened state.

The dream had started out unusually, but as is the case in any dream the mind immediately accepts the situation no matter how absurd.

Sherlock was lying on the ground, the sun was shining into his eyes and he was surrounded by tall green and yellow grass. Sitting up quickly and looking out to the horizon the captain could see he was in some kind of field that extended as far as he could see. The grass shifted and moved like water in a wind that Sherlock couldn't feel.

Standing up, the pirate stumbled as the ground beneath him shifted; it gave under his weight and sent ripples across what should've been solid ground.

But once again Sherlock's mind accepted the dream reality, his perception completely shadowed.

He began to walk; he had no particular destination in mind as his feet struggled to find traction on the strange ground. Sherlock wasn't sure how long he walked for, time was hard to gauge in a dream, but as he walked he breathed in the sweet, earthy scent of the field. He allowed his hands to feel the grass, opening his palms to the blades which scratched and tickled and soothed his skin. Sherlock even went so far as to close his eyes once he had finally gotten the hang of walking, and he smiled just barely to himself.

"Having fun?" Sherlock whipped around to where the voice had come from, but there was no one there. Looking in every direction the pirate frantically searched for the source of the disembodied voice.

"Oh don't do that, you won't see me." Said the voice.

"And why not?" Sherlock asked, his eyebrows going up and his lips turning down in that way that indicated irritation mixed with amusement.

"Because I'm not really here Mr. Holmes, at least not in the flesh."

"Well you appear to be here vocally, so would you mind telling me your name?" There was a moment of silence as though the voice was considering whether or not it should answer.

"Moran, that's all I'm giving you."

"Well _Moran_, might I ask why you are unwilling to reveal yourself to me?"

"I told you, I'm not really here."

Sherlock snorted.

"You expect me to believe that? I can hear you, therefore you must be physically present somewhere within earshot, you could not communicate otherwise." Sherlock explained in his usual knowing manner. Moran just laughed, his (its?) deep chuckle resonating across the field, causing the unsteady ground to vibrate.

"Sure Mr. Holmes, you're right."

"Of course I'm right, I'm intelligent, you're nothing but a voice which indicates that you have no brain and thus no intelligence." Sherlock smiled at his own little insult but his smirked evaporated after Moran didn't respond.

"Moran?" He called, still receiving no response. Frowning at the rudeness of the voice, Sherlock began walking again, out into the never-ending field. But he froze when he felt the earth beneath him move in response to motion that wasn't his.

Sherlock once again turned to face behind him and saw something in the distance, a figure moving towards him quickly.

"Finally decided to show yourself Moran?" Sherlock shouted out to the figure.

"_Hang on! I'm going to help you!" _ Came the unmistakable voice of John Watson.

"John?" Sherlock muttered, his mouth dropping open. He began to move towards the doctor when he saw what was just behind him.

A storm, a massive, crimson red sandstorm rushing at John fast as lightning.

"John." Sherlock whispered in terror, then he began to run for the other man.

"JOHN!" He shouted, moving as fast as his legs would carry him. The ground beneath him shook with every step and it trembled with the force of the oncoming storm. As Sherlock sprinted to John he felt something grab him from behind and begin to drag him in the opposite direction.

"NO!" He screamed, fighting against the invisible force as he was lifted into the air. Sherlock kicked and squirmed in an attempt to escape but nothing worked. He hung in the air, still struggling against the entity as the storm hesitated just behind the running doctor.

Then the doctor was enveloped by the destructive red sand.

Sherlock tried to scream, but no sound escaped his mouth, in his confusion he tried to take a breath but felt liquid enter his lungs. Coughing and spluttering Sherlock tried to expel the invisible substance but he only succeeded in inhaling more. Once more Sherlock tried to breathe and was rewarded with a precious mouthful of air before he was turned onto his stomach in the air and all the water poured out of his mouth.

Relishing the air that flowed into his body, Sherlock blinked as his whole body suddenly felt several times heavier. He tried once again to struggle against whatever was holding him but his limbs only grew heavier with every attempt at motion, finally he gave up and hung there in resignation.

"I'm sorry." He muttered into the air, even his jaw becoming exhausted by the action.

Sherlock had almost forgotten about the storm as he mind slowly became sluggish around with the rest of his body. The edges of his vision became dark and before the strange dream world around him disappeared Sherlock muttered an apology one more time.


	13. Chapter 13

When Captain Sherlock Holmes opened up his eyes in the real world he could barely see, his vision was foggy and when Sherlock tried to lift up one of his arms to rub the fogginess away he found he couldn't move them. He heard something muffled, but the state of his ears was similar to that of his eyes, they were clogged and non-functioning.

Trying to blink his eyes into operation Sherlock finally received a narrow glimpse of his surroundings. All he could see was the sky, uninterrupted by clouds or birds it stretched before him. He could tell he was on something solid, although not able to tell exactly what it was he knew it was stationary, unlike the ocean.

Once again Sherlock was aware of some kind of sound at the edge of his mind, and he felt something warm on his shoulder.

Then he saw a face, a face he was sure couldn't be real.

"John." Sherlock said, his voice coming out as nothing more than a croak. But the figure smiled and said something that the captain could finally hear.

"That's right, it's me. Don't worry, I'm gonna get you through this, just eat this." John said and held a piece of dried meat up to Sherlock's lips. He was tempted to reject it, the doctor would need the food in the long run, but the excruciating emptiness in his stomach ruled out the reasoning of his mind.

With great effort he opened his mouth and allowed John to slip the meat in between his lips. With a massive effort Sherlock forced his jaw to move and chew the food, it hurt even to do this slight action and with the intense pain that was fogging Sherlock's mind he barely registered the flavor.

"That's it, good. Can you handle more?" John asked and when the captain tried to shake his head he was unable to do so. The doctor seemed to understand and said

"Blink once if you can, twice if not." Sherlock blinked twice.

"How about water? I gave you some earlier, do you need more?" Sherlock blinked twice.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock blinked once.

John frowned slightly but didn't push the pirate any further on the subject, for this he was grateful. Sherlock wasn't sure if he could actually manage any more exertion then to keep himself conscious at this point, and even that was pushing the limits.

"It's alright, you can rest now." John said with a smile. Sherlock felt his body react instinctively to the fondness of the smile; he allowed his emotional defenses to falter slightly and his mask to slip- away into the barest of smiles. John gently placed his hand on the pirate's shoulder and although Sherlock barely registered the contact in his weakened state he still drew comfort from the action.

With a soft sigh, Sherlock allowed himself to slip away into the darkened corners of his mind, safe in the hands of the good doctor.

* * *

There were some questions that needed to be answered, after a week on the boat and a great deal of recovery on the part of the pirate John's patience had finally been beaten out by his curiosity.

"Why?" He asked out of the blue, and Sherlock was forced to open his eyes. He was in a sitting position (that the doctor had helped him into) and had been doing his utmost to get past the boredom.

"Hmm?" Was all the captain said, or rather grunted.

"Why were you in the middle of the ocean, without a boat, nearly dead?"

"Oh, that." Sherlock paused for a moment, his brow creased as he thought. John was patient though and waited while the other man sorted out his thoughts.

"I was forced off the plank by a fellow pirate, she-

"She!?"

"Yes John, _she_. She desired the treasure we had acquired and when I refused she gave me a choice." Sherlock's eyes became somewhat glazed as he recalled the events with the clarity of one who forgets nothing he sees unless he chooses to.

"Walk the plank, or watch my crew killed and my ship destroyed." John's lips tightened into a hard line, partially because of the anger he felt at this woman, partially because he was suddenly aware that Sherlock really did care for his men.

"Well, when we get out of this, we'll go after that woman and get your ship back."

"If." The pirate responded bitterly.

"If what?"

"_If _we get out of this, not _when_." The doctor frowned and looked at the dark-haired man. His eyes were distant and his mouth was tilted downward. John knew that their chances of survival weren't great, but he wanted to believe that things would turn out for the better.

"Well I'm sure the curse will give that woman what's coming to her."

"Curse?" The pirate questioned.

"Yeah, the treasure we had was cursed to bring misfortune to its owners." Sherlock scoffed at the information.

"Curses aren't real; they are conjured up by superstitious fools who want to blame something other than themselves for their mistakes. I thought you were smarter than that John." The pirate spat, he didn't deal with boredom well and the doctor was the only available substance on which to relieve his stress.

"I was, until pirates took my ship, killed every single one of my friends, and threw me overboard." Sherlock's skeptical expression faded as John spoke. The doctor looked up and caught his eye but he looked away. He was responsible for the murder of those men; he was the one who had inflicted that pain onto the doctor.

"Then, of course, there was that storm and you get thrown off your own ship by some other pirate." John leaned in close and forced the pirate to look at him again. His expression was intense as he looked deep into the pirate's eyes and said

"All because of that treasure." There was a short pause were Sherlock sat there pensively. Then he looked up with a sly smile.

"I'm quite certain the treasure had absolutely nothing to do with that storm." John tried to hold his serious expression but failed and broke into a grin.

"It was worth a shot." He said and they both laughed, their voices lost in the vast open space of the endless ocean.


	14. Chapter 14

From that point on forward it gets a wee-bit boring my friends, if the story was told from the perspective of our marauding pirate captain it would be told in snippets of awareness, occasional conversation, and a massive amount of boredom. If told from through the eyes of the dear doctor, it would consist mainly of worrying, rationing (with majority of the food going to the pirate), tending to Sherlock, a short freak-out about sexuality, and a great deal of sitting about doing nothing of any interest whatsoever.

So we're going to skip over this part of the tale, try not to be too offended by the sudden shortstopping of literary stuffage in a story that is already considerably lengthy.

I will tell you that they sat in that dinghy for somewheres around two weeks, five days, and twelve hours before something worth describing occurred to our dehydrated, starved, and sunburnt protagonists.

* * *

"LAND!"

John had only _just _noticed the patch of earth that was sitting prettily just what appeared to be a few kilometers away.

"Sherlock wake-up, Land!" John jumped excitedly over to the pirate who was nearly recovered from his full body shut down due to overexertion.

"What?" The pirate muttered groggily. John slipped his arm under Sherlock and sat him up so he could see the beautiful green patch of refuge. Even in his current state the captain looked relieved and elated to see the island, but after a moment his expression changed to one of confusion.

"How did you only just notice it? We're awfully close for that." John blushed slightly and rubbed the back of his head awkwardly.

"I, uh, fell asleep and didn't wake up until we were here." He muttered sheepishly. Sherlock only shook his head and chuckled, it was a dark chuckle though, for he knew why the doctor had managed to fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon.

He was undernourished, there were bags under his eyes and his stout frame was more visible beneath his slightly burnt skin. The doctor had all but given the rations to Sherlock, the pirate barely managed to convince him to split it 70 30, John insisted Sherlock needed the nourishment and was now suffering for his selflessness.

But with land in sight, there was hope for both men, hope of food, safety, and rescue from this whole ordeal.

Now how to get there?

Both John and Sherlock had spent a considerable amount of time brainstorming on how to possibly make the ship maneuverable. The cloth they had available to them was far too porous to be a sail and they had no way of making oars short of tearing up the boards beneath their feet. They had tried removing the planks on the sides of the boat, but neither the boat nor John had the strength to handle that. They wound up right back where they started, with a barely functioning drape to keep the sun off and a dinghy that could do little more than float.

But such trivialities do not deter a man of military background! John was a man of action, so without consulting the pirate for his thoughts on the idea, he dove into the water and swam to the back of the boat.

"John, that is a truly terrible idea. Not only do you not have the proper leverage or strength to push us all the way to shore, but we will surely meet resistance from earthy barriers in the shallow water."

John sighed and began to push as hard as he could.

"What else do you propose we do?" He said, his voice strained from the effort.

"I propose we sit in the boat and wait for the current to carry us to shore." John stopped and let out and embarrassed laugh.

"Oops."

"Oops indeed John."

They washed onto the beach of the island with a rough crunch as the boat met with the sand. John leapt out of the dinghy and dragged the boat as much further onto land as he could before grabbing the rope at the front and running up the beach to find something to tie it to. As he ran, he laughed at the glorious feeling of the sand beneath his toes (his boots had been completely ruined by the ocean).

"What are you laughing at?" Sherlock called from the boat.

"The ground Sherlock, the ground!" John shouted back with a bark of laughter as he saw Sherlock's confusion.

After John had tied the boat down he raced back to the boat, stumbling with every step. After being at sea for so long, the earth seemed to rock beneath him like a ship as it always does after a long sea journey.

The doctor held out his arms to the pirate and helped him out of the boat. Sherlock's legs were even less steady than John's when he came in contact with the soft, semi-solid earth. John released him when he was confident he could stand on his own, and then the pirate laughed, curling his toes in the sand.

"I see John, the _ground_."

They both laughed and John fell unceremoniously to the ground and sat there, staring out onto the endless expanse of ocean that stretched out before him like a second sky that met the first beyond the horizon and closed like a giant blue clam over the world.

Sherlock sat beside the doctor with a relieved sigh, but rather than gazing out to the sea, he gazed at John without restraint. It wasn't long before the doctor took notice and after a glance he met the pirate's eyes and held them. For a moment, all their worries about what was next, all their doubts and fears just melted away. All that was important was here and now and the other person. They leant in closer, the grin on John's face slowly fading as his lips came forward an-

"PEOPLE!"

John very nearly jumped out of his skin when the deafening shout rang out. He was on his feet in an instant and Sherlock was turned all the way around to look up the beach at the source of the sound.

It was a human being, sort of, he was clothed in rags and his facial hair made the entirety of his face look like a great big blob of curly brown fuzz. He was sprinting down the beach as fast as physically possible right at the two seamen.

"PEOPLE!"

John and Sherlock were both taken aback, they looked at each other and John asked

"Should I run?"

Too late,

The strange individual barreled into the doctor and they both went flying into the sand, John getting the air knocked out of his lungs. The stranger pinned the doctor and grinned down at him with rotted teeth.

"Martin! It's sooooooo good to see you!"

"Pardon? Who?" The stranger ignored John and looked over to Sherlock who raised his eyebrows at the stranger, before he too was tackled. He went down with an 'oof' as the stranger shouted

"Benedict!"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, thank you." Sherlock stated from underneath the man, his voice strained by the bone crushing hug he was receiving.

"Haha, sure it is Benny." The man laughed as he rolled off of the pirate. John and Sherlock glanced at each other as the man sat before them giggling uncontrollably.

"Season 4. It's gonna be a good one eh boys?" The doctor was so thoroughly confused by this comment he shook his head and pinched his arm to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"Pardon me, but what the _hell _are you talking about?" John questioned after coming to the conclusion that this was all real.

"Oh, right, hush hush. Moffat doesn't want us revealing anything." The man said, putting his finger to his lips conspiratorially.

"Wha-" John began, but he trailed off in bewilderment. The doctor looked at Sherlock, that for once in his life, also looked confused.

"C'mon boys! I'll show you around my place!"

John helped Sherlock to his feet and they reluctantly followed after the clearly insane castaway as he danced away from them. Suddenly something occurred to the doctor and he shouted after the man.

"What's your name!?"

"Andrew Scott!"


	15. Chapter 15

Andrew showed John and Sherlock around the island, he lived in an odd hut that was shoddily constructed from the foliage around the island. Andrew lived off of the natural fruit and the fish that lived in the ocean nearby, as well as the occasional crab.

He was the very definition of a castaway, with the unruly facial hair bleached out by the sun, the leathery skin, the torn clothes, and the generally nutso manner in which he behaved.

The only discrepancy was his eyes. Dark and piercing and intelligent, they promised a kind of shadowy cunning that very few people possessed. Yet the man himself showed no signs of having the cleverness that his eyes indicated, he seemed in every way nothing more than plain crazy.

Especially since he insisted that John and Sherlock were in fact Benny and Martin.

"For the last time, my name is John Watson, not Martin Freeman."

"I've really never been a fan of method acting Martin."

"JOHN! IT'S JOHN!"

"Do relax John, you seem to be only encouraging him."

"Nah, I just find it funny that you are both doing this odd method acting thing, granted you're pulling it off quite well, it's just funny."

"Method acting? I assure you I am most certainly Sherlock Holmes in every way."

"Yeah, because the name _Benedict Cumberbatch _wasn't odd enough already, you had to change it to _Sherlock_."

"Benedict Cumberbatch?"

"That's you! Unless, of course, you prefer Sherly?"

"John, stop laughing, neither of those is the name I go by."

"John…"

"…Stop laughing…"

"STOP!"

He also consistently referenced objects and people that didn't exist.

"Did you get a chance to read some of the phone messages Mark put in? They're hilarious!"

"Phone messages? Mark?"

"Oh my god, you haven't read it yet? You always read the script ages in advance!"

"Script? What in god's-

"No, you know what? No. I give up, you're just crazy, I'm not even going to ask anymore."

"A wise choice John."

"Awwwww, you guyyyys! That's no fun!"

"If you are under the impression that I care even remotely about your level of entertainment, you are mistaken."

"Jeese, you're even rude like Sherlock is!"

"…Pardon?"

"That's true Andrew, _Benny _is rather rude."

"John!?"

"Sorry mate, but my name is Martin."

"Oh no, not you too John."

"It's Martin, thank you very much _Benedict_."

"I'm surrounded by simpletons."

"No argument here!"

Despite his insanity, Andrew was rather pleasant. He shared all his supplies with John and Sherlock, he showed them how to survive and was always prepared to flag down a ship should one appear.

Yet somehow he did all this under the impression that everyone was on a "set" "filming" a "show" and that John and Sherlock were "movie stars" whatever those things meant. Things were well on their little island, until…

"John, where is it, what have you done with it?"

"Done with what?"

"MY RUM! Where is it!?"

"I haven't laid a finger on your rum, I swear."

"Yes, of course, because you _so_ approve of my drinking."

"Just because I don't like you getting drunk doesn't mean I'm going to risk my life and hide your rum."

"Tell me the truth John."

"I JUST DID!"

"WHY IS THE RUM GONE!?"

"Because we're re-filming the scene where John nearly gets burned alive!"

With that, the doctor and the pirate stared at Andrew and his insane grinning face as smoke began to billow behind him.

"NO!" Sherlock sprinted towards the rapidly growing fire.

"Sherlock stop!" John ran after the pirate and just as he reached the roaring fire the doctor grabbed him around his middle and dragged him back.

"Stop! It's not worth it!"

"IT MOST CERTAINLY IS!" Sherlock insisted and fought against John's iron-like grip.

"It's just rum! It's not the end of the world!"

"THAT'S YOUR OPINION!"

"No, that's a fact, now stop!"

"YOU STOP!"

"Sherlock! You're behaving like a child!"

"I DON'T CARE!"

While the two men were wrestling, Andrew crept away, realizing he had done something that might warrant some serious repercussions. He went quickly and silently so the others didn't even notice his absence.

"Let me go John!"

"Calm down!"

"Not until you let me go!"

"Not until you calm down!"

"NEVER!"

"THEN I'M NEVER LETTING YOU GO!"

They both stopped and looked at each other. The words John had chosen had a very interesting connotation to them. There was an odd pause as both men considered their situation.

Lying on the ground, tangled together, on a practically uninhabited island with no guarantee of survival or rescue.

Fuck it.

John grabbed Sherlock by the back of his head and pulled him close enough to crash their lips together in a brief, but intense and terrifying kiss.

Only _then _did it occur to John that his actions may not have been the best of ideas.

"Shit."

He immediately pulled away from the stunned pirate, scrambling to his feet on the uneven sand, all the while muttering excuses and apologies.

"ShitI'msorryitwasanaccidentIdon'tknowwhatgotintomeitmustbetheheatortheislandasawholemaybeAndrewisrubbingoffonmeIswearIwasn'tplanningonthatpleasejustforgetIdidanythingatalljusteraseitfromyourmemoryitwasamistakewellsortofbutwe'rebothmenandfriendsandnothingmoresoletsjustpretenditneverhappenedIamunbelievablysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysor-"

During John's rapid and barely understandable speech, Sherlock had gotten to his feet. His expression was frozen in shock, his eyes wide and uncomprehending and his mouth shut tight as he gazed off into the distance. The doctor continued to babble as the pirate brushed the sand off his clothes in a daze. The insides of Sherlock's head were all jumbled about and as he reorganized them he suddenly became aware.

John had kissed him.

John liked him.

John liked him in a non-platonic way.

He liked John in a non-platonic way back.

They felt the same.

And there was no one around (worth mentioning) that could judge them.

Embarrassingly, this entire chain of thought and reasoning took Sherlock a whole minute to complete. Needless to say, he was a bit frazzled by recent events.

But the moment he recovered he grabbed John and kissed him in mid-sentence, silencing the doctor's prattling protests with an '-mmf!'

It was good, considering this was pretty much Sherlock's second kiss ever. It didn't last long but the action was enough to send bolts of excitement and pleasure to every part of his body. When the two men pulled apart, breathless and smiling, Sherlock couldn't help muttering

"Wow." John grinned at that and pulled the pirate back in for another kiss. This one lasted much longer, their breath mingled as their lips moved around each other like water and wind. Suddenly the captain pulled back with a frightened and confused expression.

"John, I believe we should stop, my heart appears to be struggling with this form of exercise. I fear I may overwork it if we continue." He said, and the doctor just laughed in response. He took the pirate's hand and guided it to his chest so Sherlock could feel his heart pounding in his chest as well.

"That's supposed to happen, idiot."

"Is it healthy though?" John shook his head with a smile.

"Who gives a damn?"

Sherlock succumbed to his urges and fell into John again, their lips meeting in the middle. While their bodies moved together the pirate breathed in the doctor through his nose. The scent of the sea mixed with sweat and sun went well with the salty flavor that lingered on his lips.

Sherlock hadn't really done much kissing before then, but he was quickly growing to like it. Despite the harsh pounding of his heart and the shaking of his hands, the only thing the pirate was aware of was the thrilling sensation of John's lips against his own.

Sherlock's hand slipped underneath the older man's unkempt shirt and brushed his skin, it was-

The dark-haired captain pulled away with a hiss and grabbed hold of the ratty fabric that covered John's chest.

"Oi!" The doctor tried to resist but Sherlock pushed his hands aside and tore open the shirt.

What he saw made his stomach churn.

John was a skeleton, his ribs were visible beneath his skin as were many of his other bones. His spine jutted out from his back like the fin of a sailfish and his collarbone was sunk into his chest.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Was all Sherlock could say, he breathed out the words as nothing more than a light gust.

"It's not so bad as it looks Sher-"

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!?" The pirate shouted, his hands still laying gently on the bony chest of the doctor. John sighed and took hold of the younger man's wrists.

"You needed the food more than I did, if I had told you what I was doing, would you have let me continue?"

Sherlock shook his head numbly.

"That's why I didn't tell you, I wanted you better, that wouldn't have happened if you're sliver of conscience got in the way." Sherlock snorted at the teasing insult, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the emaciated torso of his friend.

More-than-friend.

"Look, we're safe here, I'll get better. There's nothing you can do about it now so let it be." The pirate sighed through his nose and closed his eyes. John pulled away and put his shirt back on silently.

"I'm not sorry." John muttered and Sherlock looked up at the now clothed doctor.

"I know."

* * *

Some distance away, a large, dignified looking ship with grand sails and a polished, sweeping bow rocked in the waves. On its deck stood a man with posture so straight it looked as though he was constantly weighed down backwards by some invisible burden. His head was held up so high that his nose protruded into the air like the masts of his ship.

On his left an attractive young man with smooth brown hair stood gazing through a telescope at something in the distance. They were both clothed in the colorful garb of the royal navy, but their suits and hats were well kept and smooth, clearly they were both individuals of power.

"Well Anthean, is that where we're to go?" The man asked, his voice radiated power and conceit.

"If the message is to be believed sir, then yes." Said the younger man, lowering the telescope to his side.

The older man reached into his bright military jacket and retrieved a rolled piece of paper; unrolling it he lowered his head only enough to read it over the bridge of his colossal nose.

"Greg has never given me any reason not to trust him; I see no reason to doubt him now." The young brunette nodded curtly and left to give orders to the rest of the impeccably dressed crew.

"What have you gotten yourself into now, little brother?" He whispered to himself as he replaced the slip of paper in his jacket. Behind him a man released the carrier pigeon that had delivered that piece of paper into the air.

Then the wind caught the sails and the great ship set off in the direction of the billowing smoke on the horizon.

The ornately uniformed man turned sharply on his heel and marched down the deck of the massive vessel labeled.

**The Diogenes**


	16. Chapter 16

Back on the island, Sherlock and John were having an awkward confessional conversation.

"So…you…like…?"

"Yup."

"Really?"

"I did just say yes."

"Well…"

"Well…"

"You too?"

"I suppose…yes."

The doctor was leaning in the direction of the pirate despite the sheer lack of romance in the words they had shared. They drew together for a second round of-

"HEY GUYS!"

DAMNIT ANDREW!

Jeese, this guy always pops up _right _when stuff is going to happen doesn't he?

"Yes, Andrew?" John responded with an exhausted sigh.

"Oh nothing, I was just curious what was happening on this part of the set." John wiped his eyes with his finger and index finger and drew them in to pinch the bridge of his nose; a clear sign of his exasperation at the man's antics.

"But now that you mention it I would loooooove to go on a romantic walk with one of yous twos." It was meant to be sarcastic, but the doctor got to his feet anyways. Andrew leapt up excitedly and pranced in the opposite direction with the older man behind him.

"I'll keep him busy, put out the fire; I'll be back in a minute." John smiled…saucily?

Yep, that was a saucy smile.

He smiled saucily at the pirate who smirked back before they walked in opposite directions to complete their separate tasks.

* * *

Andrew was babbling away as he and John meandered down the beach, the doctor didn't understand half the things that came out of his mouth.

"Set", "Camera", "Television", "_Fanfiction._"

Who knows what the hell any of that means.

But as they walked along something caught John's eye, it was in the shape of a cross and protruding from the ground. It seemed to be adorned with some attempt at flowers, but it looked more like a pile of withered brush.

"What's that?" Was all the doctor said and Andrew's demeanor changed completely. His grin disappeared and his twinkling eyes became dark, even his upright shoulders, almost constantly shaking with laughter, slumped down. He was still as a statue as he looked at the object, as though he wished more than anything that he couldn't really see it.

"That's Sebastian." The words weren't bright or cackling like everything else the castaway said, they were heavy, like a ball and chain dragging him down towards the bottom of the ocean.

"Sebastian?" John asked, he never would've guessed that there had once been another person on this island. But while the blond army doctor was no Sherlock Holmes, he knew people; he knew that they didn't go crazy for nothing. Andrew had engineered a whole new reality for himself here, loneliness could drive a man crazy, but so could grief.

"Sebastian Moran, he was my first officer of fifteen years, we were marooned here together..."

As the castaway drifted off John realized with a start that this was the first time Andrew had ever referred to reality, the first time he acknowledged he was marooned, or that he had been a sailor at some point. Andrew was gazing down at the makeshift gravestone, his eyes hollow and full at the same time with emotions that the doctor couldn't identify.

"…he didn't make it."

The words came out as a broken whisper, like the shattered remnants of a once great man's soul falling away with a silent, distant crash. Leaving the man irreversibly empty of himself.

"I'm sorry…" Was all John could manage. He was just a doctor; he could only heal the sick of body, not the sick of mind. He wanted to be more of a comfort but he had never been much good at this sharing of emotional stuff. Just as he was about to open his mouth to speak again, Andrew cut him off.

"Sorry for what?" And just like that, he had forgotten himself again. He scampered off, snickering in his usual manner, never looking back at the doctor or the grave.

John just stood there, frozen, as the insane man skipped off. And he realized, standing there, looking at the ramshackle grave with his mouth shut tight that while Andrew was absolutely crazy

John couldn't blame him.

He would've done the same thing if that grave was Sherlock's.


	17. Chapter 17

The last embers of the fire were fizzling out just as John and Andrew returned, Sherlock stood next to the fire clutching a singed bottle of rum to his chest protectively. John couldn't help but let out a short laugh at the pirate's appearance.

"Managed to save one eh?" The dark-haired man only gave a curt nod in response, his eyes fixed on Andrew warily. The castaway only grinned back, his eyes shining mischievously. The doctor walked up and stood next to Sherlock, touching him softly on the back in an attempt to relax him.

It worked. The pirate relaxed right away, his rigid shoulders slumping down and his tight jaw loosening. It would've taken Sherlock Holmes (or an equally intelligent individual) to notice how the two men leaned into each other imperceptibly.

"Party night!" Was Andrew's contribution to the situation, his arms flying into the air with excitement.

"No thanks." John said with a laugh, stepping away from Sherlock as their contact had lasted a little longer than would've been considered normal.

Not that anyone who wasn't a trained observer would've caught that.

"What's the matter Martin, can't hold your liquor?"

Oooo, looks like the rum wasn't the only thing Andrew was burning that day.

"I can hold my liquor just fine thank you, I simply don't fancy the idea of-"

The doctor was silenced by a long-fingered hand clamping over his mouth.

"I believe that John and I are both ecstatic for an evening of drinking." Sherlock answered for him. Unfortunately, the pirate was reasonably strong so all the older man could do was stand there glaring at him, unable to speak.

Andrew, of course, didn't even acknowledge the scene before him; he simply skipped around singing some song the others didn't recognize.

While the two other castaways couldn't hear the words very clearly (nor did they want to since it was so out of tune) but at one point John could've sworn Andy said something that sound suspiciously like

'all the single ladies.'

By this time, the two men didn't even question it; the dark-eyed castaway was just _that_ crazy.

* * *

Several Hours Later

John was quite certain that there had been more than one bottle of rum left over, for there was absolutely no way he had gotten this drunk off of just one bottle.

And he wasn't the only one.

Andrew and Sherlock were equally inebriated if not more so.

How did John know?

Well, Andrew was currently wrapped around John's right leg, cooing at it gently and petting it like it was an injured animal. They were both seated in the sand, the doctor's back against a piece of driftwood as a fire crackled in front of them.

"Shhhh…it'll be alright…it's not real pain…it'll go away."

And Sherlock…Sherlock was dancing.

Not drunk dancing, real dancing. He was twirling and spinning in the sand like a professional ballerina, his long legs moving with grace and ease along with his hands.

Ok, maybe Sherlock wasn't that drunk. If he was, how could he be doing _that_?

The doctor followed the oddly captivating motions of the pirate with his eyes; he would've chosen not to blink were it not so painful to do so. He was entranced by the dark-haired man as his coat flapped around him like a set of useless wings.

"…wow." John breathed as Sherlock whirled around the fire. The silent word seemed to catch the pirate's attention for he turned his head to look at the doctor and that small motion set off his balance. There was a brief moment where the dark-haired man whirled his arms before falling into the sand with a sound 'whump'. John giggled and crawled towards the spot where he had just seen sand go flying into the air. He only managed to separate his leg from Andrew's grasp with great difficulty, but he managed it and wormed his way over to Sherlock.

"You make quite the lovely dancer." John slurred when he arrived at the pirate's side. Sherlock chuckled, his chest shaking as his deep baritone voice escaped him in bursts of laughter.

"I love dancing, I've always loved dancing."

"Mmmmm…" Was the reply as the doctor cuddled up to the other man, his head nuzzling into his chest. Sherlock responded by wrapping his arms around the blond-haired sailor and leaning his head down for a gentle kiss.

Instead, he received a face-full of giggling as his somewhat long black hair fell onto John's face, tickling him. Encouraged by the doctor's reaction, Sherlock wiggled his head to elicit more tickled laughter, with great success.

"…stop it!...stop…STOP IT!" John shouted through his giggling, the words only barely able to be heard with all the hair tickling. The pirate then moved so he was straddling the doctor, so as to limit his movements and prevent escape. Then, the doctor's expression changed from one of agonizing delight to one of determination.

With a swift movement, he bucked the pirate off and switched their positions.

"Two can play at this game." He muttered as he attacked Sherlock with his hands, searching for a sensitive spot among the folds of fabric; though despite his efforts the pirate's face remained impassive.

"You're not ticklish?" John asked in disappointment.

"I have an older brother." He stated simply, nothing more, as though his answer was self-explanatory.

"I had an older sister." The doctor countered. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I have an _irritating _older brother." John nodded in understanding, he sat back (still on top of the younger man) and rubbed his chin pensively.

Then something occurred to him and he smiled evilly.

Bending down, John dragged the coarse stubble that had sprouted on his chin along Sherlock's face. The pirate howled and squirmed beneath John as the rough facial hair scratched his skin.

"No! Nononono! Stop that!" The pirate demanded but his entreaties were drowned out by his own shrieks. He tried desperately to escape but he was trapped underneath the doctor, all he could do was kick uselessly into the sand as John tortured him.

Finally Sherlock got an arm free and wrapped it around the doctor's neck. With a sharp tug he pulled the blond man to his side so they were lying next to each other. They were both grinning stupidly and still giggling softly because of prior events. The pirate closed his eyes and let the world disappear as John rolled onto his back and stared up into the night with a contented sigh.

"Y'know, this isn't too bad." The doctor said.

"Mmmmm…"

"Look at the stars." He said, pointing to the thousands of dazzling lights that littered the inky black sky. Sherlock opened his eyes and gazed upwards towards all the little pinpricks of light.

"Beautiful." He murmured, causing John to drop his arm down with a flop and look over at him.

"Really? _You _think they're beautiful?"

"Yes, even I find things appealing in this world, three of which I can see right at this very moment." Yep, the pirate was definitely not as drunk as he was letting on.

"…and they are?" The doctor asked as he moved his head to be on Sherlock's chest. The dark-haired captain pointed upwards into the night.

"The stars, specifically that one there." His finger moved over to a single, bright star, the North Star.

"Essential for navigation, both useful and beautiful." John hummed contentedly as the pirate's chest rumbled with his words. The finger gesturing skyward moved to point to the side, where the sounds of lapping waves drifted across the sand to the two men like a gentle lullaby.

"The sea, I've loved the sea since I first laid eyes on it. I've wanted to explore it since I was old enough to consider the future."

"When was that? 2 months?" John teased, Sherlock chuckled at that, the doctor's head moving along with his chest.

"I don't recall exactly when, but I know that I've wanted it always since that point." There was a brief pause where they both laid there in pleasant silence, then John frowned and sat up on his chin to look at the pirate.

"What's the third thing?" He inquired. Sherlock smirked and raised his head to meet the doctor's eyes.

"I'm looking at it." There was a moment of silence, John sitting there looking confused and the pirate smiling fondly.

John was so cute when he was drunk.

You could almost see the light bulb above the doctor's head as he came to a realization.

"Your coat!" He declared, holding a section of the fabric up as an example. Sherlock shook his head as he laughed, never had he found someone being idiotic so amusing.

"No you idiot, I'm looking at _him_."

A pause.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" John laughed at his own stupidity as he looked up at the pirate. Once their eyes locked they were still for a moment before Sherlock cupped the doctor's face and pulled him closer for-

"DOG PILE!"

You know what? I give up. Every time these two get to a moment where the slow jazz music is about to play…ANDREW freaking SCOTT!

Do you think he does it on purpose? Is it his intent to deprive this story of romance? I simply do not know.

Back to the story though.

The two seamen were too drunk to care by this point, they allowed their fellow castaway to jump into the sand with them. But they weren't without purpose, John grabbed Andrew's arms and Sherlock his legs, then…

The dreaded scruff beard and tickling!

As the fire died down, the dark night rang with screaming laughter from the poor, unfortunate Andrew Scott.


	18. Chapter 18

NOISE

NOISE

NOISE

NOISE

LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!

NOISE LIGHT PAIN

PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN

NOOOOOOIIIIIIIIIIISEPAAAAAAAAAIIIIIINLIIIIIIIIIIGHT!

PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

In other words, John was hung-over.

"Uhhhhhh, why?" He moaned as he sat up in the blinding, pain filled world.

"Because you had a considerable amount to drink." Came the soft reply of a pirate clearly not as tortured as John.

"How could I have had that much, you only saved the one bottle?"

"I'm afraid you drank most of that one…as well as the three others we salvaged."

"Uuuuuuuuuuugh…" He moaned, how could he have known? They all looked the same. Sherlock sat down next to the doctor in the sand, gently brushing off some of the granules that had attached themselves to various parts of John's body.

"I have a question for you." The pirate stated and the doctor responded by letting out yet another agonized groan.

"I'm really in no mood to be interrogated right now." He said, doing his best to glare at the sun.

"It's just one question, hardly an interrogation. Besides, if I were to interrogate you I would definitely not allow you to-"

"Fine, just ask me _quietly._" John interrupted, massaging his temples with his eyes squeezed shut. Sherlock gave a curt nod and asked the doctor in a hushed voice.

"What did you mean by 'had'?" The blond-haired man opened his eyes and squinted at the pirate in confusion.

"What?"

"Last night, you said you '_had_' an older sister. What did you mean by that?"

John stopped moving and his hands fell to his sides, his eyes losing focus as he stared blankly into the distance.

"She's dead."

It was a small sentence, but it was heavy, it clearly weighed on John.

"May I ask how she died?" Sherlock asked tentatively, the doctor nodded numbly.

"She was murdered; I don't know by whom, they found her body in the Thames. Everyone told me that she had gotten drunk, fell into the river and drowned…"

"…but?"

John's jaw tightened to prevent his lip from quivering, both in sorrow and in anger. His hand formed a fist and he pounded it into the sand in rage.

"But she had the words 'filthy tribade*' carved into her back." Sherlock could feel the fury as it rolled off of the doctor in waves and he couldn't help but feel anger himself.

(*This is an old-timey word for lesbian.)

"I'm sorry." Was all the dark-haired man could say, John just scoffed though.

"You shouldn't say things if you don't understand why they need to be said." The doctor spat bitterly, Sherlock couldn't really blame him though, he had been the one to pry into the painful parts of John's past.

"I do understand why though, it isn't fair that someone decided to end your sister's life because _they _didn't like the way she lived it." The pirate said softly, laying his hand on top of the doctor's clenched fist.

"It wasn't their life to take, and they didn't just take it away from her…" John squeezed his eyes shut and his shoulders became even tenser.

"They took it away from you too."

The doctor snapped, his whole body slumped into Sherlock and his arms wrapped around the pirate. He wasn't crying, soldiers didn't cry, but he was shaking with the effort of keeping his tears inside. John trembled violently and his breaths came in short bursts, but still not a single tear fell from his eyes. He wouldn't allow himself to cry despite the pain, that's how he had been trained.

"I am truly sorry." Sherlock said again, and while John didn't say anything he nodded into the pirate's shoulder; he understood that Sherlock meant it.

"If it's any consolation, I would gladly have my brother take the place of your sister."

"You are the worst person on the planet at lightening the mood." John muttered into Sherlock's coat.

"You shouldn't make statements like that until you've met my brother."

The doctor couldn't help but let out a short laugh at that as he separated himself from the pirate.

"Well then look forward to meeting him." John said with a more relaxed smile.

"Not if I can help it." Was Sherlock's reply, eliciting another relieved snort from the doctor.

"Thanks." John said, smiling at the dark-haired man. Their knees were still touching as they sat and when their eyes met Sherlock made the quick decision to move in.

Their lips met and it was the best kind of medicine for the doctor's aching heart, his hands coming up and holding the back of the pirate's neck, deepening-

"GUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUYS!"

Gee, I wonder who that could be?

Andrew came sprinting down the beach as fast as he could, kicking up sand with every furious stride.

"Where have you been all morning?" Sherlock asked indignantly, standing up and away from John.

"That's not important." The castaway said in a gust of air. Stopping and panting with his hands on his knees he gave Sherlock the 'one second' gesture while he caught his breath. After a while he stood up straight and smiled at the two seamen, not saying a word.

"…Well?" John finally asked after getting sick of waiting for the castaway to speak.

"Oh! Right." Andy exclaimed, only just remembering what it was he was going to say. The doctor rolled his eyes and slapped his hands on his thighs in exasperation at the man's miniscule attention span.

"There's a great big-" Andrew began.

"There!" Sherlock cut him off and pointed towards the white flag crossed with red that was flapping just above the tree-line.

It was the flag of the Tudor Navy, that of her Majesty Queen Elizabeth I.

John could feel extreme hope bubbling inside him as he spotted the possible rescue just out of sight.

"Come on!" He shouted, running towards the other side of the island with Sherlock close behind.

"But Guys! I have something important to tell you!" Andrew called after them, not really remembering what that thing was.

John was laughing with joy as the ship came into view, the full body sitting gloriously atop the waves. The other naval flag of red and blue decorated with golden lions and the fleur-de-lis was like a beacon of hope in the sky.

Even better, a small raft was coming ashore next to the beaten up dinghy that the two seamen had arrived in, the passengers were brightly dressed in military uniforms with one at the head clearly in charge.

Sherlock rounded the corner behind John and the moment he caught sight of the official looking man leading the others he skidded to a halt in the sand, a few meters away from the doctor and the men.

The pompous commander smirked smugly and sneered

"Hello, _brother_."

John turned and looked at the dark-haired pirate, his mouth agape. Sherlock just stared wide-eyed at the other man and muttered.

"_Blast_."


	19. Chapter 19

If looks could kill…

Sherlock's brother would be beaten to a pulp, have every bone broken in his body (especially his big, fat, ugly nose), be diced into cubes, incinerated, and dissolved in water.

Or at least that's what his little brother wanted, as he was indicating with a glare of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Do try and be grateful, _brother_."

"If you were anyone besides yourself I might be, _brother_."

"I seriously doubt that, _brother_."

Thus far in the boat ride the two men had never once broken eye contact, Sherlock staring daggers at the man and the man leering back at him with a derisive smile.

John could only guess as to why, but in each sentence they used the word 'brother' like it was some kind of insult, like it was a disgrace to be related to one another.

The air between the siblings was so charged with hostility that the doctor was fairly certain the wooden planks in the space would combust at any moment.

Trying to relieve some of the tension John spoke up.

"So you're Sherlock's brother, have you got a name?"

"Mycroft." The brunet extended his hand sideward to the doctor but he didn't look away from his brother. John shook the offered hand awkwardly as Mycroft continued not to look at him.

"Your parents weren't in favor of normal names then?" He tried again to break the ice.

"Clearly not." Sherlock deadpanned. The doctor swallowed nervously as the air thickened even more, causing John to feel as though he were suffocating.

Looking from side to side the blond-haired man searched hopefully for a friendly face, he noticed that the soldiers that had accompanied Mycroft here looked just as uncertain as he felt, aside from one.

An attractive young man with a soft, pleasing face that was a sharp contrast from the angular faces of the two brothers, especially since he wasn't trying to murder anyone with his eyes. John gave him an appreciative glance up and down, he did have an appealing look to him, but the doctor was more focused on how calm the man looked. Focusing on the man, who seemed to be the only one maintaining their composure on the boat, John started up a conversation

"Does this happen often?" He asked, jerking his thumb towards the furnace of hatred to his side. The stranger smiled knowingly and nodded

"Oh yeah, all the time, I don't think I've ever seen these two behave in each other's company outside the realm of their parent's awareness." John let out a short laugh, noticing how the man gave him a quick meaningful look. Catching on to the imperceptible hint the doctor gave Sherlock a sideward glance before commencing with their little ploy.

"Well, this is the first time I've met Mycroft, but knowing Sherlock I can't say I'm surprised."

The man in question twitched slightly, but he kept his eyes on his brother.

"I've only met him a few times, but if he's anything at all like Mycroft then I know exactly what you mean."

This time, the older brother twitched.

"Rude?"

"Oh yeah, and absolutely no tact whatsoever."

"Tell me about it. Does yours backhandedly insult you as well?"

"All the time, sometimes he isn't even discreet about it."

"Why do we put up with them? I mean it's not as if we're getting paid."

"I get paid."

"Really?"

"Of course I never get any time off to spend my money, the little I get."

"Oh yes, that reminds me of how possessive they are!"

"Ugh, I know!"

"ALRIGHT ENOUGH!" The brothers shouted in unison, simultaneously ending their glare battle to glower at their individual companions. Smirking triumphantly at Sherlock, John extended his hand to his coconspirator.

"John Watson."

"I know. I'm Anthean." He responded. The pirate continued scowling at the doctor until he finally looked over and acknowledged his existence.

"What did you mean by all that? You had best apologize." Sherlock demanded.

"Oh, I thought you were too busy with making everything unbearable awkward to notice anything I had to say." The doctor countered, the pirate closed his mouth with a snap and inhaled slowly through his nostrils to calm himself. There was only a small pause as Sherlock regained his composure, he tried to go back to staring spitefully at the doctor but the moment his eyes met the grinning face of John Watson he broke into laughter.

John also lost control and began giggling uncontrollably in unison with his friend. The other members of the boat, including Anthean and Mycroft, were now confused in addition to uncomfortable.

"And here I was hoping this new companion of yours might be slightly more mature than you." The brown-haired officer sighed.

"I'm plenty mature when I'm in mature company." John stated indignantly, directing the discreet insult at Mycroft. While he didn't show much on his face, the slight wrinkle of his nose was enough to let the doctor know he got the taunt. With a sniff of disdain he turned his head away from all those present to look out towards the ocean.

"Let us refrain from speaking for the remainder of our time on this boat." He said, refusing to look at any of the passengers. Anthean smiled wickedly and pursed his lips and began whistling a jaunty tune.

There was a moment where Mycroft's posture became so stiff John was fairly certain he would snap in two at any moment, and then he finally spoke.

"If you value your lives you will not make another _sound, _vocal or otherwise."

Anthean ceased his cheery whistling, but the burly man who had been rowing also ceased his actions, terrified the sloshing of the water would bring his execution. The commander took a deep, deep breath before whispering in absolute irritation and infuriation.

"_Rowing is fine._"

The man swallowed hard and continued to propel them towards the larger ship. The whole time John and Sherlock had been desperately trying to hold in their laugher, the doctor's face had turned a color close to purple with the effort of holding it in.

And he could no longer.

Both he and the detective exploded into laughter as the boat and its passengers drew near to the Diogenes.


	20. Chapter 20

They didn't need the gold.

They didn't need the ship.

Hell, they didn't even need rum.

They needed food.

Lestrade and the crew had been locked in the brig for far too long without food or drink. Irene only called them up if she needed something done, and only after working them to the bone would she supply them with any sustenance. The grizzled first mate of the absent captain had managed to sneak only meager bits of stale bread down to the weaker members of the crew, but they were fading fast.

They wouldn't be able to last like this much longer.

"Hello boys!" Came the sickeningly sweet voice of Irene Adler. Lestrade groaned inwardly as she sauntered up to the bars of their cage.

They were being held in the brig of the Pistoris since Ms. Adler didn't want them too close to her own assets; they were contained there by the fear that she would sink their ship with them on it if they tried to escape.

Not that anyone had the energy to try.

"How are we feeling today?" She asked haughtily, glaring distastefully down on the prisoners.

"Don't bother with pleasantries Irene. What do you want?" Lestrade growled, getting to his feet with a great effort.

She smirked evilly and her eyes narrowed.

"Aw, Greg, no need to be so rough, we're all friends here."

"Speak for yourself _witch_." Anderson wheezed out. He was lying on the ground, too weak to stand. The Woman's smile faded into a menacing grimace.

"Well at least none of my precious supplies are being wasted on you." She spat, looking up and down the pirate in disgust.

"Why are you doing this?" Greg whispered.

"Hum?"

"Why are you doing this? You killed our captain, you took our ship, you have our treasure." Lestrade's hands clenched around the bars in anger.

"What more do you want!" He shouted the last part right into her face. She brought a dainty hand up to her face and wiped her eye of the saliva Lestrade had spewed in his anger.

"I believe you should accompany me above deck Mr. Lestrade." Irene said calmly, her voice cold with determination. Lestrade wasn't the type to flinch, so he straightened up as much as his back would allow him and stared defiantly into the Woman's cruel eyes.

She opened up the cell and didn't even have to lay a hand on the first mate to get him to follow her. He knew if he tried to resist it would make his fate a thousand times worse and as exhausted as he was, it wasn't as if it would do any good to fight.

Up on the deck of the Pistoris Lestrade could see various members of the crew of The Dominatrix lounging about. When they caught sight of him, many of their faces lit up with anticipation; with not much to do on the open ocean they were eager for some excitement.

"Get me a rope Molly!" Irene shouted as she led Lestrade towards the main mast of the ship. The mousy little woman came scampering up with the cord in her hands just as they reached the towering structure of wood in the center of the deck.

"Tie him to it." She said, gesturing towards the mast with her chin. The petite woman hesitated for a moment, looking uncertainly at her captain.

"I said, TIE HIM TO IT!" Irene screamed at the woman, causing her to flinch and go scurrying over to Lestrade.

Gregory didn't know it, but when he brought up his face to look at Molly he was the very image of an injured puppy. His eyes were big and watery and his mouth tilted down at the edges into a pleading frown. His eyebrows were drawn in over his face, casting a shadow that deepened the lines on his sun-stained skin.

He looked adorably pathetic.

"Captain, is this really nece-"

"MOLLY!" Irene looked livid at the impertinence of her first officer and Molly cowered under the Woman's burning gaze.

"What did I say?" The captain asked tensely, regaining some of her composure, but the boiling rage could still be heard beneath her calm exterior.

"Tie him to it." Molly breathed, her head bowed in fear. She turned back to Lestrade and without looking at his face she took his hands in hers and wrapping them around the wooden pole.

"I'm sorry." She breathed, just loud enough for Lestrade to hear. Then she tied his wrists together so he was securely fastened in an embrace with the mast. Molly stepped away reluctantly, leaving the gray-haired pirate at the mercy of her captain.

"It's time for you to learn who's really number one here, _first officer_."

Lestrade squeezed his eyes shut as the woman behind him smiled twistedly at his exposed back. She brought her arm back, and the air froze for a moment with everyone's eyes on the man tied to the mast and the whip in the hand of the Woman. Everything was silent for the briefest of seconds, and that still seemed to stretch on for eternity.

Then Captain Adler brought down her arm and the whip sliced through the air and cut into Lestrade's flesh with a deafening crack.

He let out and involuntary scream at the sharp burning pain brought by the dark leather cutting into him.

Irene brought the whip back again and there was another pregnant pause.

Then again she sent it crashing down onto the sensitive skin and muscle of the former first officer, eliciting another cry.

The space in between each strike was almost worse than the actual blow: the anticipation of more punishment, the soft sound of Irene taking in a deep breath so she could put as much strength into each slash as possible, cutting as deep as she could.

The sharp snap of the whip that went echoing across the water was accompanied only by the agonized screams of Lestrade, there was no murmuring or cheering, only silence and the sounds of pain.

The crew of The Dominatrix looked on in horror as their captain struck the helpless pirate again,

And again,

And again,

A crazed grin adorned her face with wide wild eyes and as her hair fell out of its tight bun over her face she looked more and more savage with each drive of the whip.

The other pirates had been hungry for some entertainment, not this wanton torture.

Then the captain let out a demented laugh, and that sent Molly into action.

"Stop!" She shouted, light guilty tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. Irene froze and with an enraged expression she turned slowly to her first mate.

"_What did you say?_" The words were like blades, sharp and dangerous.

"I said stop." Though she didn't look it, the mousy little brunette contained great courage deep within her slight frame.

Everyone was looking at Molly, including Lestrade, his eyes deep with pain but full of hope.

"This is wrong. I know we're pirates, we fight and steal and kill for a living, we may be bad, but we don't have to be evil." All the people aboard the boat were staring at the petite woman with mouths agape, none more in shock than Irene Adler.

But whatever had driven the good captain of The Dominatrix to lunacy was relentless in its destruction of her spirit.

"_Get her out of my sight._" She snarled, nothing present in her eyes but contempt for the woman who had been her closest companion for years. When no one moved her severe expression contorted into one of pure rage.

"If someone doesn't obey me _right now _you'll all be getting 30 lashes!" She erupted, her face turning a harsh red with anger. Kate and Kitty Riley went into motion, walking unsurely towards the prisoner and their fellow pirate. Kate untied Lestrade while Kitty did just the opposite to Molly, tying her wrists behind her back. All the while Molly stared defiantly into Irene's eyes, never flinching or even blinking in the face of her captain.

Lestrade collapsed under his own weight the moment he was unbound from the mast which served as his only support. Kate gently placed his arm across her shoulders and lifted him up, his body hanging limp as she half carried half dragged him away.

Kate never even looked in Irene's direction as she transported Lestrade back to the brig; Kitty didn't spare her a glance either.

Molly on the other hand, never stopped looking at Irene, twisting her neck to look back at her captain even as she was directed below deck.

Just before her head disappeared into the lower decks she shook her head at The Woman, her face dark with disappointment and her eyes resigned as though she was saying goodbye to an old friend forever.


	21. Chapter 21

"_WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE'RE NOT GOING TO MY SHIP!?"_

Sherlock was beyond mad; he was beyond enraged, he was even beyond furious.

Berserk was far too soft an adjective to describe his current state of anger.

You could say he was seeing red, but the color of that red would've been strong enough that it almost appeared as though his eyes were glowing with that same intense color.

"There are other, more important, things we must attend to."

"_MORE IMPORTANT!? What is more important than my ship and my crew!?"_

"Royalty, government, matters of state, a good deal many things Sherlock."

_"I don't give a DAMN about any of that! I'm going to the Pistoris to save my CREW and you cannot stop me!"_

Sherlock stormed off in the direction of the life boats but he was stopped in his tracks by a couple of burly soldiers who seized him by the arms and forced him back towards his brother.

_"Release me this instant! I will not abandon my ship!"_

"Yes you will brother dear."

"NO HE WON'T!"

John's voice rang out above the bedlam of the sibling's argument and everyone froze instantly. Despite his relatively short stature John seemed to loom over everyone else on the deck of the Diogenes as he marched forward with clenched fists.

"I am sick to death of you two going at each other like archenemies, and I've only spent half an hour in both your presences!" He scolded, like a parent reprimanding naughty children.

"Now, we will be sailing to the aid of the Pistoris in the hope that there is still a Pistoris with all her crew. _Then _we will attend to your matters of state, as that has less priority than human lives." John's eyes burned like hot embers as he stared down anyone who might defy him, Mycroft was even too frightened to protest. Turning to the commander, the doctor's eyebrows shot up to the center of his forehead and he jammed his finger towards Mycroft's face as he said

"Also, that ship is loaded with a wealth of treasure intended for _your_ government, so this works in your favor as well." Stepping back John gave a nod to the two brothers.

"This is beneficial to everyone so everyone gets to be happy. No squabbling, no complaining, no dilly-dallying, let's go." He finished his rant, turned on his heel and stomped off, leaving the Holmes boys to obey his commands.

Sherlock and Mycroft looked at one another with wide eyes before the commander glanced back forward, gazing after the doctor.

"…where did you say you got him?" He asked in bewilderment. All Sherlock could do was shake his head in response.

"I'm not so sure I'm the one who did the getting." He muttered, completely baffled.

* * *

"You realize you just managed to confuse two Holmes's in the same room at the same time in less than two minutes." Anthean whispered to John in awe, they were standing by the railing of the ship, looking out towards the vast horizon.

"Did I now?" John responded nonchalantly.

"Yea! You deserve a medal for that." The young brunette murmured.

"And here I thought the real achievement was getting them to shut up." The doctor said with a shrug.

They both laughed at that, their voices disappearing into the open air above the azure ocean.

Meanwhile, in the background, Mycroft and Sherlock were setting a course for the Pistoris.


	22. Chapter 22

Some Time Later (because it does in fact take time to travel across the ocean)

Molly gazed out of the tiny crack in the hull out towards the bright, sparkling sea. It was the only view she had of the outside world since she'd been locked in the brig for a whole week.

Thankfully, so had Doc Stapleton, without her, Lestrade would've died ages ago of his wounds.

But the doctor was no miracle worker; she couldn't cure a man with no medicine. Trapped behind bars in the dark underbelly of the Pistoris she had little access to her supplies, but she had done all she could for the gray-haired pirate.

But if help didn't come soon, all she could do wouldn't be enough.

"Shh'lock." Gregory mumbled, his eyes still closed.

"It's just me Greg, Molly." The small brunette murmured, taking his hand gently.

"Don't trust 'er, she's a pirate." He slurred.

"Just relax Greg; help will be here soon I'm sure." Molly comforted him, rubbing circles on the hand she was holding with her thumb. She looked away as she said it, because she knew that it was probably a lie, a fiction to sustain a dying man's hope.

Because Lestrade was dying, and it seemed that there was nothing anyone could do to save him.

The corners of Molly's eyes stung as Greg continued to mutter incoherently, his head tossing back and forth, his forehead shining with sweat from his burning fever.

"I'm so sorry Greg." Molly whispered, hanging her head down to hide her tears and muffle her choked voice.

"This is all my fault, if I had been stronger I-"

"Look!" One of the pirates shouted, jarring Molly out of her sadness. She jumped to her feet and, wiping the moistness from her eyes, she pushed through the crowd of smelly pirates gathered around the crack in the wall. The little brunette pressed her eye up against the miniscule hole and what she saw took her breathe away.

The broad white sails of a massive ship were casting a shadow over the Pistoris; the greatwooden bow of the ship was plowing straight through the water towards them.

"Have they come to help us?" One of the pirates asked, Molly didn't dare look away from the gorgeous ship on the water, but she could hear and feel the other prisoners buzzing with hope.

That's when she saw it, the most beautiful sight she had ever had the pleasure to witness. Her entire body relaxed, her shoulders dropped and the breath she'd been holding fell out of her with a relieved laugh, her eyes glistening with joyous tears.

"No." She breathed out as a huge grin spread across her face.

"They've come to save us."

For standing at the bow of the boat like a glorious sculpture clad in flowing black cloth stood Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

Sherlock didn't allow his mask of composure to slip, but he was overjoyed to see his ship intact, he would have to evaluate her later, make sure there wasn't a plank out of place, but for now he was content to see her masts standing tall and her hull free of holes.

Unfortunately, she was still connected to the Dominatrix, meaning Irene was still in possession of his precious ship, and his crew.

"Which one should we board?" One of Mycroft's lackeys shouted from behind. Sherlock turned, and with determined fire in his eyes he called back.

"The one with the black sails." The man controlling the ship directed the wheel to bring them alongside the Woman's ship. It was miniature as compared to the humongous Diogenes and the shadow of the Royal Navy ship cloaked the smaller boat almost completely in darkness.

Sherlock didn't wait for the planks to be put down; he grabbed a taught rope, cut it with his blade, and gripped it with all his might. Then, with one slow step back, he launched himself forward and swung over to the other ship's deck, landing perfectly on his feet.

He turned towards the door he knew led to Irene's chambers; he knew she'd be in there. His nostrils flared and his dark brows shadowed his face as he marched forward. He was going to make her pay for what she did.

"Sherlock!" The pirate turned in response to his name to see John standing across the deck from him, a rope in hand. The dark-haired man frowned in confusion as he followed the cord with his eyes back to the Diogenes.

"Did you swing over?" He asked.

"Yes, obviously." John scoffed as he walked over to Sherlock.

"Now let's go get that woman." The doctor said with a determined smile. The pirate nodded in agreement and together they charged through the door leading to Irene's room.

It was dark, and Sherlock knew that was on purpose, the Woman wanted them to be at a disadvantage since she knew Sherlock was a better swordsman.

"Stay alert; she'll know we're here for her." Sherlock warned, his eyes wide as he tried to take notice of everything.

"We can't see her, so she's definitely got something up her sleeve." He whispered again, twisting his neck to look every which way for danger.

"Always planning something Irene." The pirate muttered to himself with an amused smile.

"Sounds like you know this woman very well." John said under his breath, a hint of jealousy leaking into his tone. Sherlock stopped in his tracks and turned slowly to the doctor, pleasantly surprised.

"John, surely you're not jealous of Irene are y-" The pirate was cut off as John shoved him roughly to the side and brought up his sword to block the blade that had been intended for Sherlock's skull.

Irene hissed angrily at the doctor, but even though her initial scheme had failed she was still dangerous, especially now that she was mad.

John couldn't see the woman, and that was frightening, but even though her form was masked by the darkness he could hear the shuffling of her feet and her fast, angered breathing.

He felt the air move by his left ear before he actually saw the slash; he only barely missed being sliced in two by jumping to the side. Then he swatted her lowered blade to the side, loosening her grip on the hilt.

That's when Sherlock decided to join the fight, and good thing he did, for John had briefly lost the woman, she had slunk into the shadows and her breathing had quieted.

But before the doctor could locate her again she had lunged forward with a vicious stab. Luckily the pirate redirected it away from John just in time.

The hallway was cramped, and as Irene once more receded into the darkness Sherlock and John were shoulder to shoulder with their cutlasses raised before them.

Their eyes were open as wide as they could go and both men were as quiet as death trying to listen for the Woman.

Seconds ticked by, each one feeling like at least a minute, and still Irene didn't appear. Finally Sherlock spoke softly.

"Where have you gone?" He asked the air, leaning forward to peer into the darkened hall, hoping to see some trace of the pirate woman.

"SHERLOCK!" John shouted, once more pushing the dark haired man to the side. As the pirate collided with the floor on his stomach he heard the sounds of metal against metal behind him. Turning onto his back he saw Irene and John locked in combat, somehow the Woman had crept up behind them.

It was no matter though, the doctor's quick reflexes had caught Ms. Adler off guard and she was struggling to keep up with the impressive sword work John was displaying. And sure enough, with one well directed parry, Irene's sword was knocked from her hand and the doctor's sword was at her throat.

"Hands up Ms. Adler." Came the frigid voice of Mycroft Holmes from the open doorway. Her eyes burned with hatred but she did as commanded.

"Capital decision Madame." He cooed, gesturing for one of his men to handcuff her. And while her wrists were shackled behind her back, her eyes remained glued to John. Then she was dragged away, still glaring viciously at the blond-haired man.

Mycroft stepped forward as the Woman was pulled through the doorway and with an appreciative smile he leaned forward and said

"Excellent work doctor."

Before turning on his heel and striding away.

John turned to Sherlock and let out a relieved smile which the pirate returned. Then the dark-haired man turned and walked into the darkness.

"Sherlock? Where are you going?" The doctor asked, following after him cautiously.

They arrived in the chambers of the Dominatrix and the pirate immediately went over to a chest that was sitting on the floor. Opening it, John could see a plethora of valuables, but Sherlock pushed past all of them to retrieve something on the bottom.

There was a pause as the younger man apparently found was he was looking for, then he stood, turned, and placed his black tricorn hat atop his head.

He smiled hugely and sighed as though he had just been reunited with an old friend.


	23. Chapter 23

The moment Sherlock's feet met with the deck of the Pistoris he felt as though he had returned home, he even went so far as to whisper a soft 'welcome home' mixed with a contented sigh.

But the happiness was short lived, the pirate needed to make sure his crew was alright, and considering where they were he wasn't so sure they would be.

"Come quickly, they're in the brig." He said, dashing towards the door that led below decks, John directly behind him.

He practically flew down the stairs and he sprinted over to the holding cells.

What he saw sickened him, his crew was undernourished and weak, as were the women mixed in with his men, obviously members of Irene's crew.

Thankfully, Sherlock had managed to keep his keys in the inside pocket of his coat throughout this entire ordeal. From walking the plank, to being on the dinghy with John, to dealing with Andrew the insane on the island he had hung onto those keys.

His fingers were shaking as he fumbled with the keys, desperate to free his people, but he couldn't seem to do it, and he dropped the keys. He bent down to pick them up, his breath coming out fast and terrified.

"I'll do it." John muttered kindly, retrieving the keys. He slipped the proper one into the lock and only after the door had swung open did the immobilized prisoners react.

Many of them leapt out, smiling and crying at the same time, hugging their rescuers and shaking their hands. Sherlock was petrified as they poured out so John spoke for him.

"There's more help above deck, head up and get some food." He said gently, directing the group of relieved pirates.

All the while, Sherlock remained frozen in the face of the gratefulness, the 'thank-yous' washing over him in his paralyzed state.

Then, when all of the other prisoners had cleared out, Sherlock and John were able to see the two that remained.

The thin frame of Molly as she sat next to the pale, shivering form of Lestrade.

"Jesus Christ!" John hissed and he ran up to the feverish first mate.

"Who are you?" Molly asked skeptically as she placed herself defensively between Gregory and the blond-haired man she didn't recognize.

"I'm a doctor." He said and she relaxed, allowing him to examine the first officer. John didn't have to look all that closely to see what was causing the fever, Lestrade's shirt was damp with blood, sweat, and disgusting yellowish pus that the doctor knew meant an infection.

Dr. Watson checked the gray-haired man's pulse, temperature, and as much of the wounds as he could see without moving the clearly fragile pirate. After he had gathered all the information possible he looked up at the mousy brunette and said

"It's not too late; he'll be fine if we get him some medicine." Molly nearly collapsed with relief at hearing this news and hugged John from across Greg's unconscious body. She stood and turned to Sherlock as tears streamed down her face.

"Thank you." She choked out, trying to hide her wet cheeks with profuse nodding and turning.

"Let's get him upstairs." John said, still concerned for the ailing pirate. Molly nodded in agreement and slipped her arm underneath one of Greg's, the doctor doing the same on the other side.

Together they hoisted him up and began to drag him out of the disgusting cell and towards help. But as he was transported along the hallway his eyes opened just a bit and he mumbled.

"Cap'n."

And that finally unfroze Sherlock; he ran over to Lestrade and began helping Molly and John carry him up the stairs to above deck.

"Don't worry Greg, you're going to be fine, we're all going to be just fine." The pirate said, his voice calm despite his earlier panic. Oddly enough, Lestrade's face split into a grin and he began to laugh.

"What?" Sherlock asked indignantly.

"You remembered my name." Greg said, his eyes shining with hope and joy at being free and having his captain back. Sherlock's eyes softened as he looked the grizzled pirate up and down and said

"That's because you're my friend."

* * *

Everyone was alright; against all odds quite literally _everyone _had survived.

Some were worse for wear, Lestrade being the prime example, but with food being shoved down his throat and medicine applied to his back, he would be alright. Not to mention that Molly was glued to his side, she refused to leave him for more than a minute.

Everyone else was stuffing their faces with the food brought up, stale bread and dried meat washed down with fresh water and rum. Everyone was focused on filling their empty stomachs and quenching their thirst. No one minded that they were among enemies, that they were with the pirates that had caused them this pain surrounded by government officials that could arrest them at any moment.

Sherlock was standing on the upper deck overseeing everything; he had already taken account of all his men and found them all to be intact.

Except for one, but Lestrade would recover. Sherlock just hoped that after he was healed he still desired to be the first mate aboard the Pistoris.

The captain's eyes wandered over the crowd on his deck, taking in every man and woman as they laughed at their good fortune of being alive.

Irene was still on deck, sitting to the side with two armed escorts, her eyes glaring at everyone over the top of the gag she had in her mouth. Her hands were still shackled behind her back.

"How ironic." Sherlock muttered to himself.

"What is?" Came the welcome voice of Dr. Watson from behind the pirate. The dark-haired man turned to face him with a smile and he gestured to Captain Adler with a sweep of his arm.

"The Woman infamous for her ability to bind others both by word and by action is now bound by simple iron." John snorted a little and nodded in agreement.

"I guess the treasure really wasn't cursed." The doctor said as he turned towards the stairs, intending to join the crowd on the lower deck.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked, following after the blond-haired man. "The evidence actually suggests it might be." John scoffed skeptically and shook his head.

"No it doesn't." He said, stopping on the stairs to look back up at the pirate who made a nondescript noise with a shrug.

"Well, you had the treasure first and you're crew was killed and you were shot." Sherlock said.

"And whose fault was that?" John asked pointedly. The pirate cleared his throat and continued.

"Then I had the treasure and I was thrown overboard and my ship taken. Then Irene had the treasure and she was arrested by my brother. Misfortune came to all who possessed the treasure, just as your legend says."

"Yeah but look at things now, everybody is ok." The doctor said, stepping down the rest of the way onto the lower deck.

"Despite everything that happened, all your crew survived, I survived, you survived, and we even managed to find each other again against all probability. Call me crazy, but I would call that good luck, not bad luck." Sherlock made a soft 'hum' noise in his throat before looking into John's eyes with a fond smile.

"You're quite right John, quite right." The smile shifted from fond to loving as Sherlock considered just how lucky he was that John was standing there bef-

"_John._" The name was spoken from behind the pirate; it was said as though the word itself singed the tongue and turned the stomach simply by existing. It burned with hatred so strong that the hair on the back of Sherlock's neck stood up.

Turning around the pirate saw Irene Adler with her wrists unbound and her eyes ablaze with malice.

She didn't say a word; she just let out a piercing scream of rage that echoed across the deck of the ship causing silence to fall.

Then, before Sherlock could blink, or breathe, or even react, the Woman pulled out her revolver and aimed it forward. The pirate didn't register it in time; his brain suddenly froze as did every muscle in his body. The air thickened, sounds were muffled, and in the span of a single heartbeat…

BANG!

A heartbeat passed.

Another heartbeat.

But that's just it; Sherlock's heart was still beating.

He blinked once, and with his eyes still blown wide with shock, he turned slowly to look behind him.

John stood for a moment, his mouth open and his eyebrows drawn, completely intact.

Then he looked down at his abdomen, and just as he rose his hand up to his middle crimson red blood bloomed from his torso and he collapsed.

"JOHN!" The scream that tore from Sherlock's throat was like a shockwave that passed through every person on the deck, giving them each a taste of what the pirate was feeling.

He flew to the doctor's side and pressed his trembling hands to the doctor's wound, the blood seeping through his fingers to stain his pale hands.

"No, no no no no no." Sherlock whispered desperately as John writhed in pain under his touch.

Irene was gone, that had probably been her plan all along. But he could really care less.

John's lips were stained red as his body was wracked with sickeningly wet coughs.

"Just hold on, you're going to be alright." Sherlock muttered, unsure if he was talking to John or himself.

"You can't lie to me, I'm a doctor." The blond man spluttered, smiling with red-stained teeth, and then immediately groaning in pain as he laid his head back.

The two other doctors, Dr. Stapleton and the doctor from the Diogenes, appeared by Sherlock's side as did much of his crew and Mycroft's. They pressed in from all different sides, murmuring and trying to get a glimpse. The dark haired man could feel panic rise up inside him as his breathing quickened and his heart began to pound. He was trying to catch John's eye, but he too was losing his nerve and wouldn't look at the pirate.

He was dying, no, no he couldn't be dying, he was John Watson.

No no no, Sherlock needed to breathe, he needed to think but the world was closing around him, everything was collapsing, nothing made any sense.

He needed to think.

HE NEEDED TO THINK!

"**SHUT UP!**"

The crowd quieted the moment the broken scream rang out from Sherlock's mouth.

"_Please_." He begged from his knees as his throat constricted and his eyes stung. He didn't have to say anything more, everyone understood and stepped back, giving them space. Now there was only Sherlock and John together in a circle of pirates and officers alike. The doctor's dark blood stained the wooden planks even darker and the pirate hung his head down close to the body of his best friend.

His true friend, his true love.

His truth.

"What do I do?"

"Tell me." Were the words that fell from the pale lips of the dying doctor.

"I love you." Sherlock breathed, so quiet no one except him and John could hear it. The blond-haired man raised a weak arm and gripped the back of the pirate's neck, pulling him close to whisper

"I love you too."

Sherlock's mind burst into action like a fish freed from a net, suddenly he could function again and his course of action became clear.

He was not going to lose John, not now, not ever.

He was going to everything in his power to keep the doctor's beautiful heart beating.

"Doctors, I need you both to get all the supplies you can find and bring them here." Sherlock commanded, his pained expression shifting to one of pure determination.

"Why?" Doctor Stapleton asked.

"We're going to have surgery." He stated, causing John to grab the pirate's forearms. Sherlock's attention went back to the blond haired man who was staring at him in confusion.

"What are you doing?" He croaked out.

"Saving your life."


	24. Chapter 24

Molly couldn't tear her eyes away from the dark splotch of blood on the deck where John had been lying just a few hours earlier. Even though the sight sickened her she couldn't stop thinking about what had become of her captain.

Her friend.

Molly had always known that Irene harbored feelings for Sherlock, deeper than the simple lust she had expressed towards any other man, but she could never have predicted any of this.

It made her sad to think about what she had lost, Irene was a strong captain and Molly wasn't sure she or anyone else aboard the Dominatrix could replace that woman.

Molly was going to miss her, not the version of her that had been driven mad by emotion, but the version of Irene long before she had met Sherlock Holmes.

The fearless pirate captain with her riding crop-crossed flag and pitch black sails. The bane of the seas yet beloved by her crew.

Molly would miss that woman, but the cruel and vindictive person she had become would not be missed.

The brunette pirate wandered over to the railing and looked out onto the dusky sea, the sun had already set so only the last remnants of day illuminated the ocean and the sky.

"Molly."

The woman in question jumped and whirled to face the source of the soft female voice.

It was Irene. But recognizing the pirate didn't cause Molly to relax; she braced herself on the railing behind her and tensed her muscles.

"You should go." She said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the fear that was rising within her.

"Come with me Molly." The ex-captain of the dominatrix said, holding out her hand invitingly with a familiar smile.

"We've always had each other, now we can only have each other. Molly and Irene, it could be that way, it could be great." She said, inching forward with wide eyes and disheveled hair.

"Go." Molly stated firmly, the apprehension leaving her as the pirate drew closer.

"Come with me Molly, we're a team. Everyone would fear us and respect us, we could have anything we want, be anything we want." Irene's words were sweet and tempting, but they were empty.

"Leave." Molly commanded again.

"We're friends, you're not you without me and I'm not me without you. You need me, so come-"

Molly drew her sword and held it at the Woman's throat, the fearsome lion that dwelled within the mouse coming forth. Her jaw was set and her eyes were hard and unforgiving as she looked into the hollow irises of the woman that used to be her best friend.

"I loved you once, you have always been my dearest friend and you will continue to be so until the day I die." Molly stated, her voice was unwavering along with her determination.

"Then come with me." Irene implored, trying to smile at the wall of a woman before her, but the brunette only shook her head.

"The person standing in front of me, begging me to run away with her is not who I was talking about. You destroyed everything you were to yourself and to me for the sake of revenge. I will always love you, but the woman I see now is not you." Molly spoke, removing her sword from the Woman's throat. Irene scowled in hatred and backed away, any pretense of friendship abandoned now that Molly had made her mind clear.

"Fine, I never loved you anyway." She spat.

"No, but Irene Adler did." Molly said softly, her voice laden with sadness and a deep disappointment.

The Woman looked like she might hurt the small brunette for a moment, but she only snarled with wide animalistic eyes and ran off. Molly could vaguely see as Irene sprinted towards her own ship, she could hear as the pirate captain freed a lifeboat from the side of the Dominatrix and lowered it into the water.

After a minute, Molly turned away and looked back out towards the darkening horizon, her form was relaxed and her mind was at ease. She wouldn't lose sleep over her actions nor would she regret letting Irene escape.

But if you looked closely into her eyes you could see a kind of hopeful yearning there.

As though she was still waiting for her old friend to return.

* * *

Everyone was going to live.

Sherlock made sure to knock on wood after thinking that this time, no more close calls.

Because it had been close, it had been impossibly close, so close if anyone had so much as breathed the wrong way all would've been lost.

But everyone had directed their breath just right and the stars had aligned and John had lived.

Alive.

Living.

Full of life.

Sherlock had never had much preference when it came to color or food or anything else, but he was fairly certain that 'alive' was his new favorite word.

Because it applied to John.

The pirate was sitting next to the unconscious doctor, engrossed in his own thoughts while at the same time completely entranced by the rise and fall of the blond man's chest. The light flutter of his eyelids was suddenly absolutely fascinating, as were the healthy flesh tone of his face and the absence of scarlet blood from his abdomen.

To an outside observer Sherlock looked severely creepy with the way he was watching over John like a hawk. His silvery eyes never once drifted away from the doctor as he sat with his knees pulled up to his chest; he looked like a watchful ball of black hair, fabric, and leather with a shock of pale skin peeping out from over his kneecaps.

"Staring at him isn't going to make him heal faster." A gravelly voice wheezed from behind the pirate. Sherlock turned to look at the source of the voice and saw the weakly smiling face of Greg Lestrade.

The dark ball that was Sherlock uncurled and sat facing the graying pirate.

"How do you feel?" He asked, causing Greg to laugh painfully.

"_You're _asking me how I feel?"

"I want to make sure you're physically intact." Sherlock said defensively, transforming his face into an indifferent mask.

"Careful now Sherlock, you're empathy is showing." Lestrade teased, drawing a smile out of the dark-haired man. The tender expression faded fast though and Sherlock's brow furrowed in worry.

"How are _you_ feeling?" Gregory asked, the concern apparent in his tone. But Sherlock, ever stubborn about his emotions, only shrugged in response, his eyes drifting down to gaze at the floor.

"_Sherlock_." Lestrade insisted, doing his best to sound firm despite his damaged body.

"Will you stay?" The pirate suddenly asked, his eyes jumping back to his first officer. It was then, when all of the walls Sherlock kept between his heart and the world around him were down, that Greg noticed how much he looked like a child.

A lonely little child desperate for a friend.

Lestrade had never intended to leave his captain but those sad silvery eyes melted his heart and he replied with unusual compassion.

"Of course, I'm not going anywhere." He smiled as he said this, it was warm at first but it twisted into a playful grin.

"There's nowhere but the high seas for me, right?" Sherlock snorted and nodded slowly, returning the smile. But once again the expression faded into one of uneasiness. Lestrade rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Nothing." Sherlock insisted, curling back into a ball.

"I know you better than you think I do, so stop being childish and tell me what's wrong." Greg demanded, forcing the pirate to meet his gaze. There was a moment where Lestrade could see Sherlock struggling with whether or not to answer before fading into resignation.

"What if he doesn't want to stay?"

There was the child again, peering out through the eyes of a man, terrified to death everyone he loved would leave him. Gregory opened his mouth to say something comforting but his throat closed up and no sound escaped.

"Of course I'm not going to leave you, you stupid idiot." The statement came from behind Sherlock and he spun to face it, nearly falling out of his seat in his surprise.

John was awake and smiling fondly up at the pirate; though his lids were still half closed from weakness it was obvious he was overjoyed to see his companion.

"But I'm a pirate, a criminal, and you're a sailor working for the crown. How could we-"

"It doesn't matter to me what you are or what I am. All that matters is who and where you are. I want you, just you, and I want you here with me."

Sherlock wanted to kiss him, injuries be damned, he wanted to grab him and show him just how much those words meant. He wanted John to know he felt the same, but there was just one problem…

"Ahem."

Lestrade interrupted their intense eye-sex session by clearing his throat. The two of them tried not to make it awkward but it was a little too late for that. Thankfully the gray-haired pirate cleared the air.

"I would love to give you some alone time or tell you to get a room, but unfortunately neither of those things are possible right now."

Everyone laughed a little and the uncomfortable situation became pleasant once again.

So the pirate captain's heart remained intact and the lives of the first officer and the navy doctor continued to carry on.

The mousy brunette with hidden courage had finally spoken her mind.

The commander in chief had laid out his plans.

And the Woman with the broken mind had gotten away.

For the most part, all was right with this part of the world, if only for a little while.


	25. Chapter 25

1 Month Later

Sherlock couldn't believe he had agreed to this, he must've been drugged at the time of his consent because there was no way he would've allowed this while in his right mind.

He tugged on the tight collar of his shirt and tried to wiggle his toes in the unbearably uncomfortable buckled shoes he was wearing. He glared up at the orderly state of his hair as it was practically glued to scalp, not to mention it was completely devoid of a hat.

"Do you think we could escape through the window?" Sherlock quietly inquired to John on his left.

"I doubt it; the guards would probably think it was some kind of assassination attempt." The doctor responded, nervously glancing at the red clad sentries posted all around the room.

"That's ridiculous, why would they think that?" The pirate muttered in irritation.

"Oh I don't know, maybe because she's had several attempts on her life already." John whispered back sharply.

"You're panicking." Sherlock observed.

"I am not."

"You're breathing patterns say otherwise."

"Yes well so do your sweaty palms."

The dark-haired man looked down at the slimy film that had formed on his hands and quickly wiped them on his pants before replacing them behind his back politely.

"It's the clothes; they're cutting off my blood flow." He said, trying to conceal the nervous tell.

"Yeah, well then it's the clothes for me too." John replied. They stood side by side for several more seconds, the doctor bouncing nervously while Sherlock stood so still one might mistake him for a painted sculpture. Finally the tension became too much for the blond haired man and he leaned over to his companion and murmured

"On second thought let's go for the window."

"All kneel before her majesty Queen Elizabeth." A voice rang out and every person in the room bent down on one knee, their heads bowed in respect for the monarch. John and Sherlock were among them, though there weren't many people, this was more of a private meeting, but there was enough blue blood in the room to make even Captain Holmes sweat.

They heard her before they saw her, too afraid to raise their heads even an inch the two men could only listen to the click clack of shoes upon the hard floor as their queen approached.

The sounds drew closer each moment until they stopped just before the impeccably dressed seamen. Sherlock was decorated in soft velvety blacks with white frills exploding through the cracks, his thin calves concealed by white tights.

John was similarly dressed only in a warm, earthy brown with a striped smock garnishing the opening by his chest.

Both of their hearts were pounding like hammers on steel as the silence dragged on.

"Rise." She finally spoke, her voice reverberating in the great hall.

John and Sherlock did as they were commanded, getting to their feet and catching their first glimpse of her majesty.

And what a glimpse it was.

Sherlock sucked in a breath and immediately averted his eyes, John only made a slight squeaking sound in his throat and continued to look straight ahead, trying not to acknowledge what was before him.

Not only was the queen a good inch taller than the gangly pirate captain, she was also three times as wide as his stout companion.

She wasn't fat, not in the slightest. But her dress occupied more space from front to back and side to side than the main mast of any ship either man had ever seen.

And it didn't stop there, the extravagant pattern and elaborate design actually made John nauseated to look at.

"I've heard a great deal about you Mr. Holmes." She said with a slight smile, as though she was privy to some interesting information.

"Indeed." The pirate responded, glancing at his brother who stood rigidly in the corner.

"Yes, and if you're at all like you're brother you at least have some notion as to why I've called you here." The queen stated knowingly, stepping as close to the dark-haired man as her dress would allow.

"I have a theory." Sherlock said with a sly smile which the queen returned.

"Do tell."

John was looking on to the back and forth between the two individuals with increasing interest as became closer to the realm of flirting.

"There's a new world in the west, the question now is who will take possession of it. You or the Spanish. The gold transported from those new lands is the future, and you can't allow that future to go to the Spaniards."

"Quite right, now where do you come in?" Her majesty inquired, circling Sherlock slowly, her keen eyes inspecting every inch of him.

"Can't have ships connected with the British Empire attacking the Spanish directly, that would mean war. Better to have them dealt with by someone less suspect, or rather more suspect. Pirates attacking ships laden with gold is nothing new, but if those pirates are working on your behalf…"

"Then England wins without Spain ever knowing it was intentional." John finished for the pirate, drawing the attention of the queen away from his friend for just a moment.

"A brilliant plan your majesty." The doctor said with a slight bow of his head. Her majesty regarded John with dark brown eyes before stepping over and extending her hand.

"I don't believe Mycroft mentioned you, what's your name?" She had gotten rather close to him in the time it took her to say this, close enough for him to notice her rotting blackish yellow teeth. Swallowing hard he accepted the hand and said

"Doctor John Watson." He was surprised at how firm the queen's grip was, but he was even more surprised by the fact that he was SHAKING THE QUEEN'S HAND!

"You're a member of my navy are you not?" She asked, releasing the doctor to step back and examining the two men.

"Yes, but how did you…?" John started, but drifted off when the queen smiled roguishly and winked.

Then the virgin queen turned on her heel and striding away, her shockingly red hair bouncing along as she went, not sparing a look for the seamen.

"I expect you to have set sail by first light tomorrow." She called over her shoulder as the massive doors at the end of the hall opened before her.

Sherlock and John got their last look at the magnificent queen as the doors were shut behind her, signifying that the monarch had concluded her business. The doctor and the pirate faced each other, both of their eyebrows up by their hairlines.

"Well." John sighed.

"Well." Sherlock repeated.

"We'd best not disobey the Queen."


	26. Chapter 26

Sherlock breathed in the salty ocean spray and closed his eyes in contentment, a small smile gracing his lips.

He had been freed from the constricting garments he had worn earlier and was back in his inky black coat with his precious hat atop his head.

Behind him, the crew was preparing for a lengthy voyage, longer than any distance they'd ever travelled before. Each man had his hands full with dragging on barrels of water and crates of food; they had to be extra prepared so as to ensure they'd survive the journey ahead.

Thankfully, all the supplies were paid for by her majesty Queen Elizabeth. It also helped that the cargo bay was now empty of all treasure, cursed or otherwise, that had been turned over to the authorities.

The dark haired man was among his loyal men, getting ready for a trip out onto the beautiful, endless ocean where he would rob his brother's political enemies of their treasure in pulse-pounding raids more thrilling than any drug.

Not to mention he had complete diplomatic immunity.

The waters would be warm, the locations would be interesting and new; who knows, he might even get an island hideaway.

There was only one thing missing.

"How do I look?"

Sherlock turned to address the man who had asked the question. John was clothed in clothing more suited to his new occupation: a light cotton shirt and loose but well-fitted trousers now adorned his frame as well as a sleek new sword sheathed at his hip. He had medium height boots that added about a quarter inch to his height and a kerchief was tied around his neck, adding a splash of emerald green color to the get-up.

"You look adequate." The pirate stated, giving the doctor a once over. John raised his eyes and slapped his hands on his legs.

"Thanks." He said sarcastically, walking over to the captain.

"I simply meant that you look adequately prepped to handle life aboard my ship." Sherlock explained turning to face the doctor fully.

"Wow, it's not even my first day and you've already given me a life sentence." John teased, stepping close to the dark-haired man.

"One can only hope."

They smiled at one another, their eyes locked for a good while before Sherlock took something from behind his back. He held the dark object up like a screen so no one could see what occurred behind it.

The pirate leaned in and pressed his lips to John's in a warm kiss, it was slow and loving, like they had all the time in the world to do this, it promised that there would be many more of these in the future.

They separated, John grinning stupidly and Sherlock with his eyes full of affection and a gentle smile across his lips.

As they pulled away the captain placed the object onto the doctor's head.

It was a small brimmed tricorn hat, like a smaller version of the hat that Sherlock wore; only this one had a single feather that extended out of the side. It was a speckled brown on one side and blended into white on the other side with darker brown stripes lining it.

The soft feather was that of an English hawk.

"Now you look like a pirate." Sherlock said with a smirk.

"Captain! We're ready to go!" Greg called from the upper deck causing the two seamen to look up towards the unfurled sails and the primed ship.

"Set sail!" The pirate captain shouted back.

He strode up to the very bow of the boat and as the ship began to move through the water he gripped a rope and leaned out towards the rising sun.

The gleaming bow of the Pistoris sliced through the waves as Sherlock's coat flew out behind him.

He, his crew, his ship, and his love were all on their way to a brand new life.

And it was going to be a good one.


	27. Epilogue

Epilogue

Irene dragged herself up the sandy shore, trying to stand despite the unstable earth and the weight of her sopping wet clothes. She finally managed to get to her feet and she stumbled up the beach a ways before collapsing onto the dryer part of the sand.

Looking back the way she came she could see the last corner of her lifeboat sink beneath the water, the gaping hole in the side still visible beneath the clear, blue water.

The pirate pulled off her sleek leather boots and began dumping the water out of them, she hadn't been enjoying the slish-sloshy feeling of the liquid trapped within them.

Wringing out her coattails Irene examined her surroundings. She was on an island of sorts, hopefully one inhabited by non-cannibals, there was growth and it seemed a survivable place if there came a need for such actions.

Then, a sound came that quite nearly made the Woman jump out of her skin, a terrifying shriek from down the beach. Irene leapt to her feet and turned to face the source, a shape in the distance.

A brown fuzzy shape that was running donw the beach screaming

"LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

END

* * *

**There's my story, I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review, they make all my hard work worth it!**


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